Clive's Poems

2 notes

shoestringstylistposts:

Holloway Road is grimy, noisy and inconsiderate, the cars that speed selfishly towards Highbury are still in motorway mode. The return leg (north side) is even worse as the lanes don’t allow for bicycles and those behind the wheel honk furiously at the cyclist who dare to cross their path, rest assured it’s not pretty. It does have it’s plus sides though - a few considered businesses, Outpost a wonderful ‘fair trade hand craft’ type shop and a good cafe Spoke (both are a little out of my price range though) I can just about gather enough change for a tea £2.50, whilst I hot desk in the cafe. I’m keen on Elli’s florist who sold me a money plant for £1.25 cheaper and friendlier that Columbia Road, Crystal £5 for a massive vegetarian turkish stew with bread, salad and rice (enough for two people) and the amazing Michael’s a greek greengrocers with amazing olives and perfect plantain.

What’s especially great about Holloway Road though is the authentically crap car boot sale, there are crack heads who set up makeshift stalls in the dingy alley at the back of McDonalds just outside the looming steel fence selling old Nokia chargers and really naff clothing, the stench of weed and desperation is palpable “I just wanna make a few sales, then I can fuck off” was one sentiment I overheard. (It reminds me of my heady days in Dalston, the Saturday morning market was then a shit pile of junk). I go there a lot as it’s super close to my house and I love thrifting… I’m at my happiest expertly scanning piles of junk, like a lioness hunting it’s prey. What’s great about Holloway Road car boot is that in amongst all the scratched plastic, Primark dresses and rusty broken tat, there are a few (not many) wonderful things lying in wait.  

I do particularly well with shoes, plants, plates, knifes but not so great with records, clothes or plant pots (the eternal hunt), each week there are the regulars and then the unsuspecting newbies that get pounced upon by the heavily skilled staunch ladies who barter with baffling conviction. This can be entertainment in itself. 

This week was no exception I swung by on route home from Columbia Road, purchased two items and generally wandered chatting to crazies and soaking up the atmosphere. 

The candelabra was £2.50 from a lovely stall of antique looking trinkets and in really good nick. I’d bought an old light fitting from there a few weeks earlier and had glossed it white ready to stick in the bedroom. However it has sat incongruously with me for a week as it doesn’t quite match my Victorian cast iron bed, black fireplace and dark wood. Glad I found real thing in brass. I reckon the other one will be great in the bathroom for when I’m relaxing with my Epsom salts.

The boots were 50 pence and at size 5 they were annoyingly too small. But I’m currently super skint so bought them as an investment. They are now in my to be eBay’d pile.

5 notes

Failed marriage

I have a thirst for knowledge,
You have a thirst for blood
I read books at night time, whilst you hunt elks out in the wood

I study a second language as to converse with the locals,
You cut off singers tongues if you do not like their vocals.

I like to watch the opera it’s something every one should see
You stab pigs with forks for and laugh loudly when they flee.

I keep abreast With politics and always read the news,
You murdered all our neighbours as they didn’t share your views

My love this isn’t Normal, my dear this isn’t accepted.
I don’t want to see the bath tub and all the coi carp you dissected.

Darling I’ve decided to leave you and seek a better life. But your right, I’m going no where whilst you hold that kitchen knife.

Filed under poetry poetry blogs humorous spilled ink

5 notes

Dark Arts Craft Show

I was at an art and crafts show in a sleepy little village. It surprised me that the main themes were murder rape and pillage.

I brought a homemade tea towel, crafted from human skin. A tattooed 19 year old killer and the bi product of sin.

The wine was young and tasty but made from Virgins blood. The phalic toilet roll holders looked nice, but were not made of wood.

Cakes of butchered corpses lined the bakery stall, she would have cooked up extra but there was no one left to maul.

Fancy knitted jumpers crafted from human guts, satanic candle holders from the remains of butchered muts.

I got some picked eyeballs distilled in inmates piss. I tried the sundried penis but found these hit and miss.

I was murdered before I left and they made me into a table. Now folk they sit around me and tell an evil fable.

Filed under poem creative writing satan crafts spilled ink black comedy

30 notes

Bridges

A bridge is used for many things, suicide and religious fanatics who think they have wings.

The surname of an actor in an oscar winning role. The surname of f@ck up living on the dole.

Bridges were built to tame rivers that flow, the same bridges were blown up in wars long ago.

Bridging the gap between the rich and the poor, some people think it doesn’t exist anymore.

Bridge is a game played in dinner parties at night, underneath bridges tramps are set alight

A bridge you need to cross but must pay a toll. Because underneath that bridge lives a world famous troll.

Some bridges are abused some bridges are not. Some bridges are replaced due to cartilage rot.

Filed under poetry poetry blogs creative writing spilled ink

3 notes

Leyton Asda or insert your town and supermarket

Leyton Asda where no ones dreams are made,
Leyton Asda its no comedy cavalcade

Leyton Asda where all your dreams are broken, Leyton Asda no kind words ever spoken.

Leyton Asda the ethically caught fish is blow up.
Leyton Asda the deformed prawns have shown up

Leyton Asda heart attacks in every meal.
Leyton Asda, the foods to cheap to steal.

Leyton Asda it’s a disguised heart attack,
Leyton Asda the tills are selling crack

Leyton Asda More E’s than 80s raves.
Leyton Asda all the staff are slaves.

Leyton Asda a money makers dream.
Leyton Asda the profit ratios obscene.

Leyton Asda the home of cheap booze babies
Leyton Asda the burgers all have rabies

Leyton Asda asbestos disguised as sweets
Leyton Asda, chew on napalm treats.

Leyton Asda let’s blow it all to pieces,
Leyton Asda it’s a massive pile of giant faeces.

Filed under poem asda walmart

13 notes

The Grave Yard

I don’t wish to scare you and I wish you’d stick around. I mean it’s not my fault you freak out when I rise up from the ground.

In actuality this is a reality and your not high from sniffing glue. Of course I am a corpse and there’s nothing I can do.

I see you loiter round this grave yard every single night, can we just hang out would that even be alright.

You say you have a hangover but my heads really hanging, don’t listen to happy hardcore as my nuts always banging.

Hmm the only way we can get close is really morose, going to slash that pretty face until I induce a comatose.

I’m not a Spice girl but two became one so lets go back under ground , where we both now belong.

Filed under Poem poetry Poetry blogs rhyme death graveyard black humour dark humor creative writing spilled ink