| Poems by Bobbin - These poems are in Bob's unique style and are based loosely on the Haiku form. | Poems by Ratman - these Haiku were written for the Moon View event at Elmley Marshes - Sheppey. |
| Serpents Seven spear shaped serpents Slithered slimily sideways Swishing swashing swoshing Sequinned sashays surreptitiously Somebody swirried seriously Sloshing something smashed Silently simplified Sequently Squared Squashed Squat Slightly Simplifying This Tale The Cot Headache, bed Sore eyes Sparse thread Memory splintered What of what King sized mattress Outsized cot Three to half past Midnight last Thoughts of she Ever fast Young time she Jaded past Pun Jabs So, so, so indeed The pillow Sleepy head stay in bed Come the morrow Winter and dread Dread the morrow No sun. no hay Burnt broken leaves Another winter’s day My lost tooth, the fairy’s Fairy’s indeed glitter On the morning At night time squeeze I begin to white of fear So Pun jabs and mun jabs A gin, another beer! | Haiku by James Apps She cat slits her eyes, Hunting unwary creatures: In bright August moon. She swoops gracefully Cutting airborne curves, landing; Her mate greets her. Sunlight breaks the gloom September sun paints golden – The wind blows autumn songs.
Clouds race excited My eyes circle darkling hills; Yet water is my frame. Moon’s mushroom face sees Westward sinking sister sun; Kissing the ocean. Owl Queen’s silent flight, Deathly flowing feather light; In sky clear moonlight. ********************************* Dusk falls Shadow sheep reflected In moon bright water. Moonfaced mushrooms Describe a fairy ring Fed by discarded cow turds. Owl call cries The bridge arches its back Across the Swale. I kick my heels On a gravel path Grass waves greeting Under a moonless sky. Pools of tranquil turbulence My eyes are raped By a red capped phallus. Dawn rises At daybreak The sparrow flies for ever. The sword cuts My thought Remains. |
| Yell at the Moon! by Ratman. This poem was written as a protest against all the signs and silly orders that are posted in all the places where councils and governments have control. Mundanely enough the signs that set me off were the little flurry of instructions, warnings and notices of penalties in a toilet at Canterbury and the final insult of demanding that in a nearby park I keep of the bloody grass. So here it is - the grumpy old man bit. Yell at the Moon! Yell at the moon, you fool, or stand Shuffling your feet, embarrassed When you remember Paris in ’68. Yeah that shit-kicking, student year When the whole town went wild Rampaged along the avenues Where cannon can get clear shots All the way down to the lowest level. If you mean it for real you understand What the tagger is trying to tell you Or what the songster behind the black Mike is wailing about. The endless rules Hanging on walls, doors, pillars, posts, Posted on posters, painted on bright wood, And that smirking git behind the bar Who turns you away because his job Is not worth the bother. Rudeness pays. There you go, spitting on the ground Rubbing it in with your foot, vandal, Night killing vandal as dark as a Goth, As sharp as a claw, nasty as a dog turd. Hey man, gimme the real world, Regulated graffiti nailed to the wall, I wanna see the name behind the law, That says I can’t smoke in the train. If I piss against the wall who tells me To go and do that behind a tree? Hell man, am I supposed beg my way Through this labyrinth of rules You make to protect yourselves, Keep your world safe from intruders. To hell with your tight little world I got some nasties to offer you. Don’t stand at your window mister Watching me race down your way Tearing up the sidewalks to throw The debris at your fat policemen, Or when I am burning your streets, Creating my own Kristal Nacht, A drunken lawmaker stripping Bullshit from the walls, scary man. Would you like to try out a riot And join me and my radical friends? Yell at the moon and have a try at Breaking down your inhibitions, slick With the blood of your neighbour, Draw the knife across the throats Of your nearest and dearest? No Guts? And does blood make you feel sick? Or will you up and cheer the leader, Howl at the bloody moon, get that Old sexy heat in your gonads, beat Your hands in time to a rhythm that Beats in time to hearts of strong men. Or will you whine to the law makers And ask them nicely to beat the shit Outta the bastards who did this to you. Secretly you want to yell at the moon And take hirsute revenge on all those Little shits, the ones who make the rules, The ones who fix the labels, spoil the fun, Take away with a word your freedom. Or do you desperately want have That forbidden spine tingling feeling Of doing it right, of doing it free. Yell at the moon break the mould, Break everything you see, burn, burn, burn, Until the law makers are forced to agree That protest means rioting in the streets. Yell at the moon, piss on the sidewalk, Break conventions, drag the bastards From their beds and rape their minds, Or rape their daughters, rape them.
Offer them unabated terror, slice organs With crinkled knives, throats with words Choking the life from ideas that belong In the past. Mind the step, this uncaring Addict for the literal cares not, labels On walls not written by the underground Mean nothing. Sure, yell at the moon, Stand in the dark staring lupus gaped Calling Cynthia by her hunter’s name. You’re crazy man but you don’t Have to let it show. The world turns Too fast for you to mean anything Worth listening to, unless, brightly, You break the mould and let the light Stream into your world. Open up child, Watch the tiger spit his prey to death And meet death himself, unknowing. Me, when I come down to Earth, Touch the cold grass with naked feet And gaze, trying to understand why Gallileo had such a rough time With the God wallopers. But me, I’m just pissed off with the little Shits who make the stupid rules And yet cannot keep a latrine clean. Try walking in the park buster And not see the signs layered Like leaves and guarded, jealous Of destruction, by order of, and no This and no that, do not, peace And quiet, the end is nigh mate, Pick up thy dog shit and walk, Keep left in four languages. Rotten little shits bust their balls To keep your plebian arse off the grass, Never admitting that the mower cuts The poor sods down like the young men In my grandfather’s time, uniform death, Where everybody gets a share of the dirt. The Flanders flowers as red as a red Revolution, man its your turn next! Sing a song of hate and let your breath Carry the meaning beyond the knifepoint. Break down barricades, rampage in the city, Tear down the signs! Look left, Look right Look weird, scream like a banshee, Yell hysterically at the moon, For Christ’s sake yell at the moon! For Christ’s sake yell at the moon!
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