Re-Emerge The Exact Same As You Are

Light shines upon that river free,
And incandescently bright;
A Moravian forest scene
Trapped within my head at night.
We used to hide, smoking weed,
In the transcendental day;
There was no festered evil bleed,
Youth was a tourniquet.

That waterway's a tributary
Only for my dreams.
Were those years too, fantasy?
Crooked memory, buckled overhead beams.
Those sunny banks are lost to doubt,
Though you may trek through country far,
You'll never find that river-mouth,
Re-emerge the exact same as you are.

I remember your post-coital banter,
You said it didn't make you cute,
It just meant you were a massive spanner;
I still disagree with you.
Can you imagine how distraught I'd be
If you did yourself harm?
Don't bide beneath that river free,
Re-emerge the exact same as you are.

The Fisher

My croft is at sea,
With my fishes
And my own sense of blasphemy.
Damn you, pale nebula,
My navigation
Is by polyp and medusa.

When the shore's in sight,
I clutch at my throat,
Longing for your tentacles
To suck on my boat.
On my haggard deck awash with rain
I stand, reeling in a net of pain.

Oh maelstrom, spin the fabric of my freedom,
Sunken iceberg, be my palace in the ocean,
The empty stores are where I make my feast,
And albatross, be my herald of peace.

When the shore's in sight,
I clutch at my throat,
Longing for your tentacles
To suck on my boat.
On my haggard deck awash with rain
I stand, reeling in a net of pain.

Claw

These emotions are illusions; 
an opaque mask. 
Giving head on my sick-bed, 
now the phlegm's passed. 
Sensitive, your legs quiver, 
and pupils dilate. 
Rend your claws across my jaw 
for that absolves hate. 

Claw - vainly at the strings of reality. 
Tear - without regret or mercy. 

Your poem is a profound 
waste on me. 
I couldn't take your treasures 
if you'd cut me a key. 
If I could read the knowledge 
right off your skull, 
I'd still be fucked and worthless, 
I'd still be null. 

Claw - vainly at the strings of reality. 
Tear - without regret or mercy.

Utter Lack Of Gall

I am writing to inform you, cur,

of your utter lack of gall;
your deficiency of stoic grit,
and your flaccid, whiny pall.
Your tendency to give a shit
over inconsequential news
stirs within me acute need
to vomit on your shoes.

I'm writing to inform you, prick,
of the prevalent view
that knowing you is to have a tumour
not easily removed.
But I cut off that growing rumour,
for it's a bombastic aggravation.
You lack the gravity of cancer;
you're more like constipation.

You're repugnant and you're petulant:
your infantile will supine and torpid;
I'd fight, but you're more page than knight,
more jellyfish than spine.

I know you are possessive,
and so I hope this missive possesses you to hiss.
Never yours, yet sincere always,
I am Moray Jaundice.

ODE FOR A COUNCIL SEAT

Oh, if I were elected,

the environment would be respected

with a focus on flood defences;

we'd fill sandbags digging trenches

in a sustainable manner

in accordance with the policies of our ministerial planners.

Oh, if I win this seat,

I will put more constables on the beat:

they will be freed from their desk jobs

to tackle the drunken yobs,

and protect the responsible majority from the danger

posed by the small number of people who participate in anti-social behaviour.

Oh, I stand as a candidate,
to campaign against sectarian hate,

and to fight for equality in the workplace,

whatever your gender, disability, or race.
For the past ten years I have been a shop steward

serving the interests of ordinary people when those in senior positions have erred.

A vote for Johnny Morrice

is a vote for our community's progress.

P.S. Doug Thomson, who stood for the Hilton/Stockethill Council seat in the 2012 Council Elections, actually writes poetry on the subject of his political policies. Sorry about the poem Doug.  You have a deeply philosophical view of local political issues, but nonetheless you are hilarious.

On Horrible People

Friendship groups are in constant threat of destruction by utterly terrible motherfuckers. These specimens are invariably interesting and complicated people. They may be charismatic; they may be handsome; they may just be doggedly determined. A horrid person can't be defined in generic terms. Everyone – evil, fucked-up bitches included – has their own eccentricities. But bilious, walking-mind-fucks conform to a general pattern when invading the company of others, and there are some specific strategies that friends use to remove their poisonous, faecal presence.

The horrible person will mould the social structure of your group to better achieve their aims.  A core aim of a bastard is to cement their place within the group. The fucker needs to create dependence amongst the group members on their own continued membership of the group. With drugs, this is achieved through their connections to the underworld. The friends need them – and will be very obliging to see that they remain a part of the collective, in spite of their assholery. There are other ways of achieving this power: sex is a classic; money is another; someone influential in the local art scene is in a niche position, but it can suffice for being a complete asshat.

Smaller groups are easier to manipulate (we're dealing with local shit-heads, not Rupert Murdoch). People might realise that their new pal is a total douchebag. Evil misanthropes will address this problem by sewing discord. A common misconception is that discord will blind the victims to the evils of the perpetrator. Not so: being a known arsehole spreads more discord than being an unknown arsehole. No-one will be able to prevent the cunt from being a chronic shite-lord, because they have no choice but to react to the awful milieu.

Discord is created by bruising and breaking existing ties of affection. The smeg-bearer need not invoke a clandestine strategy. A common approach is that the parasite will refuse to socialise with one particular individual. Such an action causes an immediate schism. People will be forced to evaluate their loyalties. The arse will prefer to test close bonds: siblings and lovers are favourites. Wrecking close relationships affects an amplification of tension within the group: other people are upset to witness good relationships turn to shit.

These rackets mirror human interactions conducted in good faith: we all have small groups of friends, and we do prefer the company of some people to others. The important difference is that the black-hole-of-a-person we are dealing with has no concern for genuine participation: ideally, they want only to achieve their narrow goals.

Horrible people always inhabit a web of co-manipulation. They will introduce you to others. It is difficult to know your position within this scheme. The highly intelligent wanker is dangerous in this respect, for they will place their sluggish brethren tactically. This is the general method by which one becomes acquainted with people who are both dim and awful, for they otherwise won't find you. Horrid people who are slow on the uptake can ruin otherwise good company, merely by the unpleasant state of themselves. These people are exemplified by diazepam addicts who slur and cannot think.

Nasty personages can be identified by conversing with those whom you still trust. Manipulative cocks will be discovered in this manner, because they will impart different untruths to different people. But even a blatant pile-of-discharge must be identified in this socially forensic manner, because your friends may not be as brave (or sober) as you are.

Once a complete cunt has been identified, an intervention will inevitably occur. The friends may present a combined front to the offending gobshite. Formally announcing this new-found solidarity to the fucker can be an effective tactic: they will realise the game is up. Crucially, there will be a rule that no-one may speak to the turd. This is more difficult for drug-users, for everyone will most likely attend the same dealer's flat.

The strategy of rejection is not effective when facing an evil, psychopathic, bitch. The peril is that he will not be driven off, and will instead turn up at your place of work and cause a scene. A friendship group can deal with such demented freaks by denying them information. The unbalanced abuser will be unable to show up at your child's nursery, because they do not know where it is. This is difficult to implement, because of others known to both the friendship group and to the awful banshee. If the bastard is crazed enough, the friends may be able to convince third parties of the soundness of the plan, as the third party will know all about the craziness. However, if the third party is an arsehole themselves, this will fail. The friends may be forced to excommunicate a large number of people. Always remember that such people may have a genuine medical problem.

As information about everything becomes easier to access, absolutely fucking squamous people will become an increasing hazard everywhere. The core defence against these total cunts is to love your real friends with dearness and devotion, and to rejoice in the unity and trust that you've nurtured together without having all those bastards around.

ZEN

The failure of pop philosophy to engage with problems facing some real people.

ZEN

Embraced, as one,
a meek self-loathing.
Still never come
amid driven down clothing.

Bending yet still;
still tonguing your Zen.
Stroking the drill
amid driven, drunk, young men.

Nocturne solemn.
Watched sparks on asphalt:
zapping coulombs,
amid driven spray and salt.

Endless squalor;
precipitous ridge.
Phobic, and poor,
amid driven carriages.

Reincarnate:
sweet old madrigal,
send me a fate
amid driven animals.