Clive's Poems

29 notes


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

8 notes

Memoirs of a dog.

Spent my life chasing bones like a puppet for the man, curled up on the rug watching  possible war happen in Iran.

I run in the morning but it’s where the master takes me, I just want to chill, he just wants to break me.

I can’t eat what i want only eat what I’m given, placid and docile I used to be so driven.

I have primal rage and need to bark fight and holler, want to f@c! the bitches but I’m led upon a collar.

God this isn’t life its a modern form of slavery, but when I protect the house I’m awarded for my bravery.

Filed under Poem poetry dogs poetry blogs black comedy rhyme funny rhyme funny poem pets

14 notes

Pete the Chicken

I had a visitation from a murdered chicken. His name was pete and he was once finger lickin,

Serving one purpose the day that he died. Butchered, breadcrumbed then Kentucky fried.

His message was clear “your a f@&king barbarian, now wash those hands and become vegetarian”

Pete I would do, but you must think i’m mental, you just don’t get the same taste deep frying lentil.

Thats a load of baloney and a lot of kaffafel. You don’t like lentil? May I suggest falafel.

With that suggestion we became best of friends, now I feed that ghost chick peas for my own evil ends.

Filed under poem chicken kfc chicken black comedy dark humor rhyme

6 notes

British summer time

Young Glaswegian women drink flavoured cider by the river.

The Jelly coconut seller sends monied girls Into a quiver

The tide comes up my feet are in the water,

A yacht cruises by there’s wankers aboard, I stick my middle finger up but I think I’m ignored

The sun brings out the lads and they think its magaloof, a lady tells them
To dispose of their litter but they remain aloof

Middle class Families eat African Strawberries from afar. They traveled from Surrey in a 4x4 car.

The willow tree and bridge laugh as they’ve seen it before. This Is Richmond and the Thames is a whore.

Filed under London poem richmond upon thames rhyme creative writing