Submissions by zenithquasar77 (Marcus cooke)
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
Pervair of witty ditty's and sublime rhymes...i also like cats.
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
22nd Sep 2012 11:28am
22nd Sep 2012 11:28am
Close Encounters Of The Obsurd Kind!
Like a death at a funeral
you’re a cruel punch line
You smell of halitosis
and cheap wine.
You’re like a whirlpool
I don’t want to drown;
you’re the king of crap
sat without a crown.
We met on a bus
you were acting Ridiculous,
I was amazed
at the grasp your silliness.
You talk rubbish,
it’s like the bin-men are on strike
Everything about you
I seem to dislike
I’m sure you’re not human
you must be an alien
You don’t speak English
it sounds kind of Romanian
You...
you’re a cruel punch line
You smell of halitosis
and cheap wine.
You’re like a whirlpool
I don’t want to drown;
you’re the king of crap
sat without a crown.
We met on a bus
you were acting Ridiculous,
I was amazed
at the grasp your silliness.
You talk rubbish,
it’s like the bin-men are on strike
Everything about you
I seem to dislike
I’m sure you’re not human
you must be an alien
You don’t speak English
it sounds kind of Romanian
You...
635 reads
2 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
22nd Sep 2012 11:20am
22nd Sep 2012 11:20am
This Dreamer's Dream Went Wrong!
Am I the dreamer?
Or am I the dream?
Am I the centre?
Or just in-between?
Am I the keeper?
Or Am I the kept?
Am I the weepier?
Who weeps with the rest?
Am I the drop?
Or am I the ocean?
Do I rule with my heart?
Or rule with emotion?
Am I the many?
Who outweigh the few?
Im Out with the old?
And In with the new?
Am I the right?
Or am I the wrong?
if I am, then this
Dreamer’s dream went wrong!
Am I the high?
Or...
Or am I the dream?
Am I the centre?
Or just in-between?
Am I the keeper?
Or Am I the kept?
Am I the weepier?
Who weeps with the rest?
Am I the drop?
Or am I the ocean?
Do I rule with my heart?
Or rule with emotion?
Am I the many?
Who outweigh the few?
Im Out with the old?
And In with the new?
Am I the right?
Or am I the wrong?
if I am, then this
Dreamer’s dream went wrong!
Am I the high?
Or...
661 reads
6 Comments
STORY POEM
Published
21st Sep 2012 7:43pm
21st Sep 2012 7:43pm
Kessler
Kessler makes his way down the creaking stairs of his two story terrace house.
Widowed and alone, and ever so frail, Kessler carries a jar tucked under one arm.
Placing the jar on a shelf under the stairs, tucked in a corner with due care.
A thump, a knock, a bang on the door, as the door flies open and Kessler falls to the floor.
4 thugs wielding baseball bats enter his home, as easy prey he lived on his own.
Kicked and beaten the thugs start to smile; they smell of cheap whisky and haven’t bathed for a while.
One grabs Money, the other...
Widowed and alone, and ever so frail, Kessler carries a jar tucked under one arm.
Placing the jar on a shelf under the stairs, tucked in a corner with due care.
A thump, a knock, a bang on the door, as the door flies open and Kessler falls to the floor.
4 thugs wielding baseball bats enter his home, as easy prey he lived on his own.
Kicked and beaten the thugs start to smile; they smell of cheap whisky and haven’t bathed for a while.
One grabs Money, the other...
681 reads
4 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
21st Sep 2012 7:39pm
21st Sep 2012 7:39pm
A Transitional Sort Of Stage
Darkness meets me like a closed fist
and I find myself,
floating somewhere, Discorporeal.
In a transitional sort of stage –
my body lies, inept,
suspended on a knifes edge.
And then I realise….
“Shit I’m dead again!
That my body lying there,
over there by the ledge”.
Balancing like an acrobat
high above the heavens and stars.
Between a great life or a Glorious death.
This is My choice to make.
The ghostly spectre makes a appearance
as he always does.
his face wrapped in blankets,
imposible to...
and I find myself,
floating somewhere, Discorporeal.
In a transitional sort of stage –
my body lies, inept,
suspended on a knifes edge.
And then I realise….
“Shit I’m dead again!
That my body lying there,
over there by the ledge”.
Balancing like an acrobat
high above the heavens and stars.
Between a great life or a Glorious death.
This is My choice to make.
The ghostly spectre makes a appearance
as he always does.
his face wrapped in blankets,
imposible to...
646 reads
6 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
21st Sep 2012 10:51am
21st Sep 2012 10:51am
The Escapist
I lie here trapped,
restrained in this casket of hurt,
with only ants that more at my feet
and a small flickering flame for company.
These chains bind me
like the squeeze of a boa constrictor,
darkness as far as my damaged eyes can see,
somewhere there must be a light?
There has to be a light? right?
We are born in to this world of bondage I suppose
and sometimes this life takes us for granted.
I am restrained only by myself doubt.
Why is always a lock but never a key?
Through these broken eyes I truly cannot see.
...
restrained in this casket of hurt,
with only ants that more at my feet
and a small flickering flame for company.
These chains bind me
like the squeeze of a boa constrictor,
darkness as far as my damaged eyes can see,
somewhere there must be a light?
There has to be a light? right?
We are born in to this world of bondage I suppose
and sometimes this life takes us for granted.
I am restrained only by myself doubt.
Why is always a lock but never a key?
Through these broken eyes I truly cannot see.
...
605 reads
0 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
20th Sep 2012 8:55pm
20th Sep 2012 8:55pm
Kate mossed!
Kate Moss-ed" By Marcus Cooke
Like a vomit stain at a party
You're always there,
you're face always pouting,
id like to throw you
through the air.
You look like alien
from the far reaches of space,
with tentacles for eyelids
and slime for a face.
Where once you were pretty,
star of magazines,
now your attitudes or shitty
and you creak at the knees.
Where some of us sell are soul
for festival tickets
you waltz in for free,
you live in luxury
while some of us live in trees.
...
Like a vomit stain at a party
You're always there,
you're face always pouting,
id like to throw you
through the air.
You look like alien
from the far reaches of space,
with tentacles for eyelids
and slime for a face.
Where once you were pretty,
star of magazines,
now your attitudes or shitty
and you creak at the knees.
Where some of us sell are soul
for festival tickets
you waltz in for free,
you live in luxury
while some of us live in trees.
...
714 reads
10 Comments
DRUGS POEM
Published
20th Sep 2012 8:01pm
20th Sep 2012 8:01pm
I Remember Nouthing
My mind is a void,
a blank slate,
there is no
end or beginning ,
I don’t know who I am,
or what I am
or where I’m going
or where ive been
And I remember nothing,
nothing at all;
I remember nothing,
nothing but a invisible wall.
I remember nothing,
plausible denial,
I don’t recall or remember,
history unfolding,
so many questions without answers,
I remember falling,
falling for a while,
I can’t recall or remember,
so many questions without answers
...
a blank slate,
there is no
end or beginning ,
I don’t know who I am,
or what I am
or where I’m going
or where ive been
And I remember nothing,
nothing at all;
I remember nothing,
nothing but a invisible wall.
I remember nothing,
plausible denial,
I don’t recall or remember,
history unfolding,
so many questions without answers,
I remember falling,
falling for a while,
I can’t recall or remember,
so many questions without answers
...
733 reads
2 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
19th Sep 2012 6:56pm
19th Sep 2012 6:56pm
My Name Is Chaos!
Though you can’t see me
I’m always there
I’m always in sight
and always near
I’m the storm on the horizon
The oncoming storm,
i twist the knife,
play evil games.
I go by many names
Anarchy, hate,
destruction carnage
Anger, randomness,
calamity and rage
This traveller has come
My time is now
Your never see me coming
Ask yourself,
not when, but how!
Though you think you
live your life's
in a state of bliss,
you will soon be staring into
my eyes, the dark abyss
I touch...
I’m always there
I’m always in sight
and always near
I’m the storm on the horizon
The oncoming storm,
i twist the knife,
play evil games.
I go by many names
Anarchy, hate,
destruction carnage
Anger, randomness,
calamity and rage
This traveller has come
My time is now
Your never see me coming
Ask yourself,
not when, but how!
Though you think you
live your life's
in a state of bliss,
you will soon be staring into
my eyes, the dark abyss
I touch...
648 reads
0 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
19th Sep 2012 9:23am
19th Sep 2012 9:23am
Snow Patrol Are Shite
(Love them or hate them, i choose hate them)
Snow Patrol are shite,
I want to weigh them down
with talent,
and drop them from a great height.
You claim you were chasing cars
When infact you were chasing cash,
instead you created a catasphry
a total full on car crash.
You sold your soul,
mind the gap,
you allow generic
wannabie pop stars sing your crap,
“Just say yes” I rather say no,
you’re not my friend
you’re most defiantly a foe.
“The Final Straw” I wish it was final
there something...
Snow Patrol are shite,
I want to weigh them down
with talent,
and drop them from a great height.
You claim you were chasing cars
When infact you were chasing cash,
instead you created a catasphry
a total full on car crash.
You sold your soul,
mind the gap,
you allow generic
wannabie pop stars sing your crap,
“Just say yes” I rather say no,
you’re not my friend
you’re most defiantly a foe.
“The Final Straw” I wish it was final
there something...
664 reads
0 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
19th Sep 2012 9:17am
19th Sep 2012 9:17am
No Future
You got no future,
you got no past.
You got no present
But it moved to fast.
You’ve reserved your name
on a park city bench
Your be wearing charity shop trousers
and a seaman splattered vest
The look on your face
was truly frightening,
In your right hand grasped
a bottle of white lightning
Isolate that isotope
Your neutrons like brandy
Stimulate that frontal lobe
That would come in handy
You’re a product of a government
who let you down
and left you for dead
You spend your days in pyjamas, ...
you got no past.
You got no present
But it moved to fast.
You’ve reserved your name
on a park city bench
Your be wearing charity shop trousers
and a seaman splattered vest
The look on your face
was truly frightening,
In your right hand grasped
a bottle of white lightning
Isolate that isotope
Your neutrons like brandy
Stimulate that frontal lobe
That would come in handy
You’re a product of a government
who let you down
and left you for dead
You spend your days in pyjamas, ...
656 reads
0 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
18th Sep 2012 11:11pm
18th Sep 2012 11:11pm
Crap Ringtone
Crap phone,
crappy ringtone
The wire is in the blood,
answer the bloody phone,
Stop the crappy ringtone
As roamers roam,
and interlopers groan,
Travellers on this journey
moan and moan.
Because some twats
dancing to his telephone,
rushed of his feet.
His phone is boring and obsolete.
It’s like a form of massicisum,
this guy is a sadist,
he a noise pollutant
and an audio rapist.
Somebody answer
the bloody thing;
don’t let that
fucking thing ring.
...
crappy ringtone
The wire is in the blood,
answer the bloody phone,
Stop the crappy ringtone
As roamers roam,
and interlopers groan,
Travellers on this journey
moan and moan.
Because some twats
dancing to his telephone,
rushed of his feet.
His phone is boring and obsolete.
It’s like a form of massicisum,
this guy is a sadist,
he a noise pollutant
and an audio rapist.
Somebody answer
the bloody thing;
don’t let that
fucking thing ring.
...
637 reads
2 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
18th Sep 2012 10:27am
18th Sep 2012 10:27am
Paul Weller Hairdo
Paul Weller Hairdo" By Marcus Cooke
Lost in a mod wilderness
with a target on my back
Looking like the mod father
takes time and tack.
With my Paul Weller hairdo
and my 3 piece suit
IL is the mod pied piper
with a guitar not a flute.
I want to be that fella
with that Paul Weller swagger
And talk in rhyme with that
Paul Weller style blagger.
IL walks through the wild wood
with eyes that can see
I hope I look that good
when I’m 53
Now my Paul Weller hairdo
has changed to...
Lost in a mod wilderness
with a target on my back
Looking like the mod father
takes time and tack.
With my Paul Weller hairdo
and my 3 piece suit
IL is the mod pied piper
with a guitar not a flute.
I want to be that fella
with that Paul Weller swagger
And talk in rhyme with that
Paul Weller style blagger.
IL walks through the wild wood
with eyes that can see
I hope I look that good
when I’m 53
Now my Paul Weller hairdo
has changed to...
761 reads
2 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by zenithquasar77 (Marcus cooke)
