Submissions by Alfie_Shoyger
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
Rhymer. Rhythmer. Experimenter.
SPIRITUAL POEM
Published
3rd Sep 2020 9:30pm
3rd Sep 2020 9:30pm
Letter from a Hunter to a World of Farmers
From lofty pedestals, you tell me that I’m sick, abnormal.
You say my mind’s distorted with disorder, with disease.
You sneer that I’m a weirdo, you complain my brain cells dawdle,
you moan, “Why won’t you swing and somersault on Life’s trapeze?”
You moan, “Why won’t you comb your hair and climb that sparkling ladder
up to a mortgage in the sky and spotless mental health?
Why won’t you woo and date and court and watch confetti scatter?
It’s...
You say my mind’s distorted with disorder, with disease.
You sneer that I’m a weirdo, you complain my brain cells dawdle,
you moan, “Why won’t you swing and somersault on Life’s trapeze?”
You moan, “Why won’t you comb your hair and climb that sparkling ladder
up to a mortgage in the sky and spotless mental health?
Why won’t you woo and date and court and watch confetti scatter?
It’s...
#religion
#MentalHealth
#historical
#philosophical
#science
271 reads
1 Comment
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
12th Jul 2020 7:58am
12th Jul 2020 7:58am
The Stokes Croft Riot
Black flags fly from the free-shop window.
Below, a girl who eats no flesh
cradles rolls of rat-cage mesh.
A burst of Caribbean lingo.
A metal sheet across the door
of what was once an anarchist bookshop.
Workmen whistle on the rooftop
of a cobwebbed Polish store.
A waft of cider pressed from plums.
Dreadlocks held in place by pencils
flow beneath a Banksy stencil
of teddy-bears with petrol-bombs.
A mother and three freckled children
munch on processed Cornish pasties.
A bunch of banjo-strumming crusties ...
Below, a girl who eats no flesh
cradles rolls of rat-cage mesh.
A burst of Caribbean lingo.
A metal sheet across the door
of what was once an anarchist bookshop.
Workmen whistle on the rooftop
of a cobwebbed Polish store.
A waft of cider pressed from plums.
Dreadlocks held in place by pencils
flow beneath a Banksy stencil
of teddy-bears with petrol-bombs.
A mother and three freckled children
munch on processed Cornish pasties.
A bunch of banjo-strumming crusties ...
#nature
#Britain
#rebellion #rhyming
#rebellion #rhyming
354 reads
2 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
3rd Jul 2020 6:19pm
3rd Jul 2020 6:19pm
Behind the Curtain
What sort of playwright writes about
the right of right-wing radicals
to Christian rites, right in my face?
Good Stalin, that’s not right!
Watch out, scum! By the time I’m done
with poking in my left-wing chin,
I will have left no pen unsniffed,
no room unbugged tonight.
the right of right-wing radicals
to Christian rites, right in my face?
Good Stalin, that’s not right!
Watch out, scum! By the time I’m done
with poking in my left-wing chin,
I will have left no pen unsniffed,
no room unbugged tonight.
#politics
#historical
255 reads
0 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
27th Jun 2020 6:53am
27th Jun 2020 6:53am
F**k the Liberal Left
I used to think that you were there
to lift the working classes,
but now I see your heads jammed up
your own self-serving arses.
You see the world in black and white,
through dogma-curtained glasses,
so certain what the past is,
puking moral catharsis.
You believe in nothing but the rightness
of your own opinions
(the ones you sucked from globalist media’s
brainwash-droning minions
and share with Brussels bigwigs’
censorship-condoning millions):
Let’s home a billion Syrians
whether they’re killers or civilians! ...
to lift the working classes,
but now I see your heads jammed up
your own self-serving arses.
You see the world in black and white,
through dogma-curtained glasses,
so certain what the past is,
puking moral catharsis.
You believe in nothing but the rightness
of your own opinions
(the ones you sucked from globalist media’s
brainwash-droning minions
and share with Brussels bigwigs’
censorship-condoning millions):
Let’s home a billion Syrians
whether they’re killers or civilians! ...
#politics
#rhyming
#freedom
#Britain
#hypocrisy
323 reads
2 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
23rd Jun 2020 9:30pm
23rd Jun 2020 9:30pm
Please Don’t Call Me Racist!
I’ll sneer that working-class folk smell
of mammoth’s farts and cannot spell,
while claiming I’m left-wing as hell,
just please, don’t call me racist!
I’ll never think outside my box,
my words will all be orthodox,
I’ll suck a thousand black men’s cocks,
just please, don’t call me racist!
I’ll hop across to Volgograd
and tell those untermenschen, Vlad
and Igor, that their views are bad,
just please, don’t call me racist!
I’ll spit on Stephen Oppenheimer,
wash my face in chicken korma,
hug a ticking suicide...
of mammoth’s farts and cannot spell,
while claiming I’m left-wing as hell,
just please, don’t call me racist!
I’ll never think outside my box,
my words will all be orthodox,
I’ll suck a thousand black men’s cocks,
just please, don’t call me racist!
I’ll hop across to Volgograd
and tell those untermenschen, Vlad
and Igor, that their views are bad,
just please, don’t call me racist!
I’ll spit on Stephen Oppenheimer,
wash my face in chicken korma,
hug a ticking suicide...
#rhyming
#apocalypse
#racism
#hypocrisy
#politics
244 reads
0 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
21st Jun 2020 11:53am
21st Jun 2020 11:53am
Western Society is Going to Collapse
The overdraft is plummeting to trillions and trillions.
Satanic banks are bloating into ruby-crowned leviathans
who clamp their clenching, flexing, metal-knuckled, hairy tentacles
around Democracy’s contracting, fast-retreating testicles.
Murder-merchants, cardboard cut-outs, billionaire Don Juans
grace the White House. Up ahead glint grinning petroyuans.
In desperation, flares are shot into an Arab’s bonfire
right next to where a taunted Russian bear repairs his empire
beneath an evening sky that gasps with flailing thunderclaps.
Western society...
Satanic banks are bloating into ruby-crowned leviathans
who clamp their clenching, flexing, metal-knuckled, hairy tentacles
around Democracy’s contracting, fast-retreating testicles.
Murder-merchants, cardboard cut-outs, billionaire Don Juans
grace the White House. Up ahead glint grinning petroyuans.
In desperation, flares are shot into an Arab’s bonfire
right next to where a taunted Russian bear repairs his empire
beneath an evening sky that gasps with flailing thunderclaps.
Western society...
#politics
#money
#feminism
#apocalypse
#rhyming
305 reads
0 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
17th Jun 2020 6:49am
17th Jun 2020 6:49am
Brave New World
Welcome to our brave new world,
like Nineteen Eighty-Four but a few years later,
a safe space reserved for Feminists, terrorists,
vicarious intellects, beta-males, no haters.
We, we, we decide the rules,
you must learn them ad verbatim.
You’ll be safe and sound if you obey them:
Enjoying your own culture
is racist.
Enjoying a different culture
is racist.
Looking at a Chinese rubber sculpture
is racist.
Trying to cure a stomach ulcer
is racist.
Dressing as a panther or a puma
is racist.
Preferring...
like Nineteen Eighty-Four but a few years later,
a safe space reserved for Feminists, terrorists,
vicarious intellects, beta-males, no haters.
We, we, we decide the rules,
you must learn them ad verbatim.
You’ll be safe and sound if you obey them:
Enjoying your own culture
is racist.
Enjoying a different culture
is racist.
Looking at a Chinese rubber sculpture
is racist.
Trying to cure a stomach ulcer
is racist.
Dressing as a panther or a puma
is racist.
Preferring...
#identity
#politics
#rhyming
#racism
#hypocrisy
452 reads
14 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
9th Jun 2020 9:26pm
9th Jun 2020 9:26pm
Still No Apology
(R.I.P. UKA, ukauthors, a once-great writing website killed by cretinous arseholes.)
We don’t have to apologise
or admit being wrong
because we are never wrong,
even when we are,
even when our wrongness
is fluttering from the church roof,
is blaring from loudspeakers on the high street,
is wafting out of every sewer,
we are still not wrong.
Even when we have no arguments
except abuse
and finger-pointing
and defamation
and abuse,
we are still right
and you are wrong,
...
We don’t have to apologise
or admit being wrong
because we are never wrong,
even when we are,
even when our wrongness
is fluttering from the church roof,
is blaring from loudspeakers on the high street,
is wafting out of every sewer,
we are still not wrong.
Even when we have no arguments
except abuse
and finger-pointing
and defamation
and abuse,
we are still right
and you are wrong,
...
#illness
#vanity
#aging
300 reads
2 Comments
DRUGS POEM
Published
7th Jun 2020 9:57pm
7th Jun 2020 9:57pm
Ketamine Trip with Chas and Dave on the Stereo
What sort of person snorts a porky line of ravers’ smack,
then plays the greatest hits of Chas and Dave?
You’re looking at him lying flat out on his back,
his third eye peeking through perception’s bars.
I’m bouncing round a Cockney universe
where pearly angel-kings are beckoning beyond the grave.
They wink at me beside the Pearly Gates and then disperse
in a trillion stars.
Gertcha! Off they vanish
into another dimension,
like a young-retired plumber to a Spanish
villa. Gertcha!
Jason tips his seventh gin and cherryade ...
then plays the greatest hits of Chas and Dave?
You’re looking at him lying flat out on his back,
his third eye peeking through perception’s bars.
I’m bouncing round a Cockney universe
where pearly angel-kings are beckoning beyond the grave.
They wink at me beside the Pearly Gates and then disperse
in a trillion stars.
Gertcha! Off they vanish
into another dimension,
like a young-retired plumber to a Spanish
villa. Gertcha!
Jason tips his seventh gin and cherryade ...
#music
#drugs
#Britain #rhyming
#Britain #rhyming
319 reads
0 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
4th Jun 2020 9:54pm
4th Jun 2020 9:54pm
Reading Lucy’s Old Poetry
It was three and a half inexperienced years
before the first time I would ever
see your pale and puzzled face,
call you by name or absorb your
surprise-laden, whirlpooling words.
Tita the Peruvian clairvoyant, her
mascara garnishing her scrunched-up eyes,
gripping crystals over tarot cards
like an extra-terrestrial gripping
a spaceship steering wheel, proclaimed:
“I see a girl who’s always on your mind.
You’re thinking and thinking and thinking about
this girl, but she’s not right for you.
She’s...
before the first time I would ever
see your pale and puzzled face,
call you by name or absorb your
surprise-laden, whirlpooling words.
Tita the Peruvian clairvoyant, her
mascara garnishing her scrunched-up eyes,
gripping crystals over tarot cards
like an extra-terrestrial gripping
a spaceship steering wheel, proclaimed:
“I see a girl who’s always on your mind.
You’re thinking and thinking and thinking about
this girl, but she’s not right for you.
She’s...
#love
#girlfriend
#relationships #MentalHealth
#relationships #MentalHealth
342 reads
3 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
25th May 2020 7:20pm
25th May 2020 7:20pm
Last Train to Bydgoszcz
A frosty shaft invades the station, chilling scarfless necks.
A flush-cheeked whistler coughs, connects his shiny jacket, checks
his watch, a banjo-shouldering gypsy scans the schedule and scratches
his paintbrush chin as Krzysiek takes an oafish chance and snatches
a kiss off skintight-skirted cherry-lipsticked Katarzyna.
They’re fresh from advertising kitchens at the sports arena.
She jumps and shoots a cash-changed grimace of rejection, “Gosh! Cheeky
bastard!”, as she itches for the last train to Bydgoszcz.
Ksenia jerks her suitcase past some...
A flush-cheeked whistler coughs, connects his shiny jacket, checks
his watch, a banjo-shouldering gypsy scans the schedule and scratches
his paintbrush chin as Krzysiek takes an oafish chance and snatches
a kiss off skintight-skirted cherry-lipsticked Katarzyna.
They’re fresh from advertising kitchens at the sports arena.
She jumps and shoots a cash-changed grimace of rejection, “Gosh! Cheeky
bastard!”, as she itches for the last train to Bydgoszcz.
Ksenia jerks her suitcase past some...
#rhyming
235 reads
0 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
22nd May 2020 2:35pm
22nd May 2020 2:35pm
Hope in the Time of Coronavirus
The sun was high in the sky,
the mechanics were welding,
the binmen were clattering,
my landlord was chopping wood
when I woke up,
head hammering with brittle futures
and crumbling economies,
head hammering with
syringes, with Satanic
corporations and conspiracies,
with visions of commands
in microchips
in humanity
in chains,
with marks of the beast,
with the two-decade-long
ambulance siren of loneliness
in my stomach
reaching its deafening,
workless, cashless,
publess,...
the mechanics were welding,
the binmen were clattering,
my landlord was chopping wood
when I woke up,
head hammering with brittle futures
and crumbling economies,
head hammering with
syringes, with Satanic
corporations and conspiracies,
with visions of commands
in microchips
in humanity
in chains,
with marks of the beast,
with the two-decade-long
ambulance siren of loneliness
in my stomach
reaching its deafening,
workless, cashless,
publess,...
#depression
#loneliness
#relationships
#nature
#pandemic
318 reads
2 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by Alfie_Shoyger
