Deep Underground Madness

  
 
hold onto your knickers, this may roar  
 
   
   
   
Some things are underground for a reason  
Much mush  
pretty make up  
and half dressed    
mannequins  
have throughout history    
tried to turn    
the hardest    
of the underground movements  
into pretty-tinsel-laced  
e v e r y d a y  
environments  
It makes    
as much fucking sense as    
Michael Jackson  
being headmaster    
of kindergarten  
   
So while you read this  
thinking  
"yes but"  
I'm sorry  
-NO!  
If you're wanting to hear  
"hit me baby one more time"  
expect an axe guitar to the temple  
   
There are a million  
commercial    
pretty poetry websites  
There are thousands of  
publishers willing  
to print    
your wrecking ball  
   
But only one fucking  
underground  
that welcomes  
your cutting poem  
your sex change  
your death wish  
your hard core  
your heartache  
your heavy  
the love  
and the    
dark in  
YOU!  
   
Now I'm not saying pop  
shouldn't feature as an  
appetizing act  
I am saying  
we can't turn  
a death metal festival  
into grandma's  
peach-panty-tea'party  
    
While Karen  
and Justin    
arrive putting    
vases of daises  
on the toilet cistern    
-a mirror ball above the mic  
and a crop top on the drum kit  
   
pull out your leathers  
hold true to your heart  
swap it out  
for a skull coffin    
filled with    
black-fucking-roses  
   
Hold your own truth  
-apple pie  
has no place    
in suspenders  
and chastity devices!  
   
   
   
paint your love, in poetry as our forefathers did, but do it, just do it the underground way  
   
   
   
< end rant >  
   
 

        
       
       
put pen to paper        
strip the ego        
breathe        
intended words        
slipping emotions        
with devotion        
       
writing        
is a personal moment        
time for self reflection      
to gift your voice        
of reason        
if you do it often enough        
the air in your lungs        
exhale "lines"        
while blood is pumping        
metaphors        
you'll find yourself        
personifying doors        
        
editing        
is like the sun        
the more you stand        
the warmer you'll get        
proof reading        
is a necessity        
it's the best school        
words can get        
       
poems        
are never finished        
the more you work them        
the closer they get        
they're there to find a mind        
to relate and        
become        
their friend        
as you lay the words out        
respect the reader's eye        
and give 'em some humanity        
before they say      
goodbye        
   
ask a person kind enough        
to read        
and tell you how they feel        
say "thank you very much"        
while using their view    
as a review        
trying the ideas they throw        
at you        
       
       
.        
       
       
you'll see a gray bearded chap        
arrive        
revving        
a chrome shone Chevy        
you'll call him old        
think he's a dork        
for the words he writes        
land like a fork        
-use the time to write some lines        
about how he is a tree        
with branches full of leaves        
where each is an experience        
that teaches        
learns        
and breathes        
       
then        
when you're done        
       
-just write again!        
       
       
       
       
       
       
       
       
       
       
 

 
 
 
He's the coolest-cat
on the Dee-You-Pee
Listen closely  
I'll show you
-You'll see
there's no cooler pussy
even in  
Alumini universi-teee
 
His inbox is so large
the green, stays red
and the girls in the sent
say his pics are bent
apparently the shadow  
makes them order
Mello Yellow  
and look,
well he's the coolest-gent
(charged them a fee
for image-rent)
 
He's the coolest-cat
with his Fer-ra-ri  
and Lecoste Golf-Tee
[insert a wank emoji]
apparently hasn't bothered
to build on the poet tree
naah the book's so bland
and his critiques
not FREE!
 
when he drops a roast
everyone pretends  
he's "Brad The Bad"
growing his cool-cat fad
He's won so many comps  
the stars are prompts
but look,
he's the host
some kinda holy-ghost
Eating fucking caviar
on his toast
 
He's still the coolest  
cat, you ever did see
walking like a pimp
-Adidas sneakers
Nike slacks
Dark shades
above his head
-they say he keeps them on  
in bed
 
The question that ponders
his head-shot
- a lady generic  
from shutter-stock
- causing wires  
to be in mental block
 
They say it's a fact
you'll see
He's the coolest cat
on the dee-you-pee
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

My blood is heresy
Addiction, incomplete
Conflict that I will bleed for your viewing
Lets watch the pendulum sway
How do I feel today?
Cannot exonerate what keeps me fuming.

The moon reflects my life
Half deceased, half alive
The clergy horrified by my ascension
I feel them searching within
Dark brood impassioned with sin
Your somber lullaby is my inquisition.

Lost in the gallery
Dressed in sharp tragedy
I cannot help but feed on devastation
Sizing up the prey
Synthetic bouts of gray
Souls in disarray hold my fascination.

 
I met an old granny    
from deepest Dundee    
she danced to the bedroom    
as fit as a flea    
   
When I jiggled her titties    
she groaned like a goose    
so I tore off her bloomers    
and sucked up the juice    
   
She wailed, I am ready    
for full intercourse    
then leapt on my cock    
and rode like a horse    
   
I asked do you do this    
for all the young men    
She said not that often    
only now and again    
   
Now and again    
and again and again    
Now and again    
only now and again    
   
But granny grew breathless    
as she ground down the beef    
She said would you mind    
if I take out my teeth    
   
I'm afraid I might choke    
as your member's so fit    
they'll be safe in your navel    
and can chew on my clit    
   
Now and again    
and again and again    
now and again    
always now and again    
   
But then came disaster    
with my rod like a rock    
her gnashers went wild    
and they bit off my cock    
   
Now and again    
and again and again    
now and again    
always now and again    
   
So please heed this lesson    
I've learned to my cost    
Send your granny for check-ups    
and always use floss    
   
Not now and again    
never now and again    
not now and again    
never now and again

I'd quite like to be bowdlerised, I think:
have my impurity removed
with good, old-fashioned medicine:
a proper seeing-to.

Bent over the seat of a leather banquette,
the seat of my pants pulled down
as if by eager medic's hands...

...and just as I'm exposed
and begging for relief,

("just fucking finish me!")

the balm applied...

smoothly at first,

("oh god...")

and then a little more roughly,

("oh YES")

until at last relief
affects me so deeply
the name of my reliever comes
unbidden to my lips,

and falls from them

SCREAMING.

And in the wake of surgery?
all that remains to do
is clean...

I'll think about that in a bit.

 
Thunder stalks the halls  
ghosts swirl through raggedy dreams  
as memories tiptoe in  
grounding their mark on my shore  
 
Your wraith fixes booby-traps  
an army of combers  
strung hungry along the beach  
eager to trap the ache  
of a battered driftwood heart  
 
And when she jumps  
your impossible fish  
startles without fail  
a flurry of kisses remembered  
through lifetimes refusing to heal  
 
Tears consign  
the might have beens  
to sigh out the night  
under sheets martyred 'till dawn  
the hug of time's venom  
crushing each maybe and perhaps  
pickling hearts in a jar  
 
All those could haves  
would haves  
should haves  
the tsunami of bitter sweet-nothings  
humbled to dust  
suffocating my soul  
while I wonder still--  
Could it be the same  
for you?

(A Walter’s Alter Ego…

Wally shut the fuck up
I need to get this off my chest

He’s the kind of guy to hurl insults at anyone who disagrees with him
But gets butt hurt when he can’t nut a good squirt of verse in a whim
He calls other dudes pussies acting all tough tryin’ to start beef
And yet when he recites a rhyme it just sounds like a queef

Then he’s gon’ talk about his glock saying he’ll spray fools who step on his block
But when shit gets real, this tool pulls up his pants and begins to briskly walk
It hits different when bullets whiz by faster than when he spread them rumors
But this guy is the kind of guy who gets scared leaving skidmarks on his bloomers

He runs his mouth like a louse ‘cause the liar is chasing fame
All this gaslighting now has his house on fire and it’s lame
He’s got loose bars stools and turds speaking like he’s the GOAT
But I’ll get lyrical and biblical and sacrifice him by cutting off the throat

This choke artist thinks he’s woke because his words provoke
But the bloke is a joke when his eyes tear up in the smoke
He says “watch the waters” like we’re goin’ to witness a magical trick
All the while his lips are sucking on slick political dick

He’s the kind of guy who will flip the middle finger from far away
But ask him to go on a mission and he’ll respond with “nah, I’m a stay”
He acts hard but would date a woman who will greet you with namaste
But at night this chick will strap on and mount him for some ass play

He says he can rhyme and spit but everytime it sounds like shit
And the worst part of all this is…he doesn’t know when to quit
We’re sick and tired of this fuckin’ haywire of lies and hallucinations
A lot of us just don’t want to see this kind of verbal masturbation

So before I’m out this bitch I say to this QAnon
Fuck you…and the horse you rode in on

Wally, back to you.

  
Wearing skimpy
scanty panties  
she burst into my head  
screaming: Spider!  Spider! Spider!  
then she jumped into my bed  
   
Don't fret    
I'll keep you safe I said  
He'll never crawl up here  
Why not let me suck a nipple  
run my tongue around your ear  
   
You're already feeling calmer  
all cuddled up and bare  
though we better slip those panties off  
to check he's not in there  
   
I was scared I might be dreaming  
and I didn't want to wake  
How could she be so willing
to swap her spider for my snake? 
   
All spiders love dark corners  
but they hate it when it rains  
so it was better she got wetter  
in case creepy crawly came  
   
The bed began to bounce  
with the sheets a total wreck  
her pink enjoyed a pounding  
thighs tight around my neck  
   
Begging God for mercy  
she'd never moved that fast  
but what did she expect  
with eight legs up her ass  
   
Ten squirts then it was over  
she slept like babies do  
and the spider's in his bottle  
all ready for round two