A La Prochaine

Job done

It was time to make tracks

She’d paid her dues

And that was that

The cycle of life

Was moving her on

She didn’t belong here

Although it was fun

She yearned for more

Than what was on offer

She’d been reduced

To something improper

She needed to extract herself

From the status quo

This wasn’t really her

So she had to go

On to the next

Big adventure

She was seeking out

To avert dementia

To the pastures new

She was yearning for

Knock, knock, knocking

On unopened doors

If she persisted

One may unlock

So she made a plan

After taking stock

For it’s not healthy to stagnate

In the same old cycle

In order to grow

You must not spiral

Into the same

Mundane routine

But instead take courage

And spread your wings

And then when the moment

Is upon you and right

Soar into the air

And just take flight!

Defused & Confused

Fuse lit

She began to smoulder

Sizzling, burning

Tingling all over

A raging furnace

Was ignited

At last alive

Infused, excited

He continued to pour

fuel on the fire

The flames increased

Climbing higher and higher

They touched the sky

Setting it ablaze

Common sense incinerated

She succumbed in a daze

Then all at once

A power cut

She felt herself shrinking

As he pulled the plug

Plummeting now

Back down to Earth

She crash landed

And it really hurt

Disposable

As toilet paper

Flushed away

Without a see you later

A hazardous encounter

She really didn’t need

Although she licked her wounds

They continued to bleed

That she could be treated

In this way

Illustrates the sickening culture

Pervading ‘dating’ today

A veritable minefield

Where one is dehumanised

Picked up and then put down

Blown out, cast aside

The instant gratification

Of communicating online

Negates the need it seems

To meet up in real life

A first ‘date’ can be had

Using video call

You get the general jist

Having made barely any effort at all

And before you know it

You’ve been virtually ‘banged’

Used to scratch an itch

Wham, bam thank you, m’am!

They then disappear

To reek havoc elsewhere

Leaving you out in the cold

Stranded, up in the air

Virtual ratbags

That you can’t even slap

That hide behind screens

Dishing out their crap

Cowardly pussies

Not lions in this case

That don’t have the gumption

To meet face to face

So impersonal

Heartless as hell

More evidence of zombiefication

Devoid of emotion as well

Distinctly soulless

Operating like machines

By remote control

Riding roughshod over feelings

Immune to the fact

There’s an actual person somewhere

That might be upset

By this lack of care

So the radio silence

Was deafening

She vowed never again

To be so sucked in

She chalked it up

To experience

Rebuilt her walls

The first line of defense

As for online dating

And scraping the bottom of the well:

F**k swiping left and right

It go to hell.

Sharks

Swimming in perilous waters

Playing the dating game

Too many sharks for this little fish

Don’t want to get bitten again

First they swoop

All over you like a rash

Making plans

Moving too fast

They build up your hopes

Infiltrate your dreams

Then they drop you

Just as quickly it seems

Having led you on

But having still played the field

They’ve cast their nets wide

But penetrated your shield

You let your guard down

Just for a while

They reeled you in

Then cast you aside

Left you hanging

Up in the air

Then next time you checked

They were no longer there

Blue ticked and ghosted

Whilst they’re clearly online

Chatting to another catch, no doubt

As you fall to the back of the line

Well competing’s not for me

If I don’t stand out from the crowd

You’re clearly not worthy

So that’s it, I’m out.

Smashed

Crash, bang, wallop

She collided with the shelf

A free standing unit

Until she grabbed it to steady herself

Down did it topple

Raining glass on her head

Sending everything flying

Through the air, what a mess!

Wine glasses, flutes, tumblers

And a vase

All hit the deck

And smashed into shards

Oh, what a racket

And a mess to behold

The nincompoop just stood there

And couldn’t be consoled

But it’s no use crying

Over spilt milk

And in her inebriated state

The thought of cleaning did she jilt

Drunk and disorderly

She sent herself to bed

Knowing that tomorrow

She’d have a thumping head

So leaving shattered

glass

All over the floor

Off did she teeter

To think about it no more

In the afternoon

When at last she awoke

The carpet was glistening

As if covered in snow

It shone and it sparkled

Like a night of a thousands stars

She wondered what’d occurred

Until her memory was jarred

By treading barefoot

Onto a sizeable piece of glass

That tore into her instep

Causing her to curse

Jumping up and down

With stinging, bleeding feet

She surveyed the considerable damage

Shocked at the scene

Of all her lovely glassware

Lying broken on the floor

A shattered picture frame

A teacup that was no more

Oops, thought she

What a flaming disaster

I’d better get a shovel

And hoover up straight after

And so she did

And all was fine

Apart from the gash

Which would heal in time

The moral of this story

Is nail your shelves down

And don’t put glass atop them

If you’re a drunken clown.

Zombie Zeitgeist

I confess I’m addicted to my phone

My observations tell me I’m not alone

For when you venture out it’s plain to see

The majority of us are glued to our screen

Whether on the tube or pushing a pram

We all have devices in our hands

Surfing the net or social networking

Everyone obsessed with being plugged in

It’s getting so bad even in company

We’re not fully there as we view our screens

And now there are warnings from TFL

Not to fall down escalators as a result of this swell

In checking our messages, writing posts

Face to face interaction up in smoke

We’d rather be alone in the cyber world

Than engaging in reality with other boys and girls

It is an epidemic that’s spreading extremely fast

Thus it seems that human contact

could become a thing of the past

No need to leave the house anymore

When everything can be ordered and delivered to your door

A society of zombies isolated could we become

If we don’t down devices and venture out into the scrum

And mingle with other beings physically there

Where we can look them in the eye and maintain that stare

Connecting on a basic level without the aid of WiFi

And concentrating on each other

instead of being distracted by

Notifications and little beeps

Incoming communication that never sleeps

And keeps you up all night as your brain just can’t switch off

From all the incessant stimuli we’re inundated with

Time to give it a rest, take a break just for a while

Look up from your laptops and perhaps give someone a smile

Watch where you are going, don’t get yourself run over

Be present in the moment and you hopefully won’t fall over

Have a coffee with someone instead of instant messaging

Regard the world around you taking note of everything

Don’t zone out and go into a solitary trance

Assemble your tribe, spin some tunes, have a little dance

Limit your time on the World Wide Web

Grab yourself a hottie and get jiggy with them instead

I’m talking to myself

As well as anyone else

Your family and chums are precious

And deserve nothing less

Than your undivided attention

For one day there’ll come a time

When perhaps they’re no longer around

And you regret being online.

Bladders That Go Bump In The Night

When nature calls

Thou must obey

Except when in slumber

That just isn’t ok

Suddenly you wake

And wonder why

Until you hear

Your bladder cry

The sensation creeps in

Building in strength

You try to ignore it

But it won’t relent

You turn and twist

Willing it to subside

But a swell is building

Between your thighs

With the dam about to burst

You yank yourself up

Leg it to the loo

Entreating the urge to stop

Til you’re safely in the bathroom

And can finally let go

Bleary eyed yet relieved

As you allow your pee to flow

But your problems aren’t over yet

Here’s where the real challenge comes

Will you ever get back to sleep

Now you bladder has banged it’s drum?

It’s 5 am

Dawn has started to break

You’re no longer in pain

But you’re wide awake!

And no amount of counting sheep

Can knock you out again

And so you curse your bladder

For depriving of sleep your brain

You lie there staring at the ceiling

Lamenting your bad luck

Conclude you must admit defeat

And reluctantly get up.

Way too early 😞

Not Quite Breakfast At Tiffany’s…

Don’t need my ‘full English’ served

On a giant rectangular slab

Don’t need a dressed salad garnish

With my bacon, sausage and egg

Don’t need vine-on cherry tomatoes

Give me canned ones in juice instead

And though I’ve scoured this ridiculous slab

Can I fook find a slice of fried bread?!

And where is my builder’s tea?

English breakfast or Earl Grey’s the choice

But cutlery won’t stand up in either

I want Tetley’s, nowt else will suffice

Oh, what has happened

To the greasy spoon?

This ‘N8 Brunch’

Is loony tunes

10 of my squid

For two brittle half rashers

That crumble to dust

When faced with my gnashers

One measly egg

Yet a goblet of beans

Presented as if made

Of priceless things

Resplendent on said slab

In a vessel all of their own

Yet still I detest these things

And deign to leave them alone

And every cuppa you have

Costs an additional fee

No bottomless beverages here

No meal deal where your tipple is free

This wasn’t always the case

But gentrification is setting in

Prices soar, pretension is rife

Poshification of everything

I love London toon

Particularly Crouch End

But I’m northern at heart

And it drives me round the bend

When I’m being ripped off

Taken for a ride

Fleeced and shafted

Hung out and dried

If I pop down the road

To N22

A tenner will buy

Double the amount of food

Might not look as pretty

Might not be as ‘posh’

But at least it’s value for money

Not like detonating your dosh

Middey’s by name

Midget by nature

The tiniest of fry ups

Leaves me cold by temperature

A sprinkling of rocket

Is an utter abomination

On a British institution

I can’t afford at this rate of inflation

So b***ocks to the balsamic

You sprinkled on those leaves

That didn’t belong there in the first place

Desist in future, please!

Dispense with the vegetation

The slab that should be a plate

And reinstate the greasy spoon

In my beautiful N8.

Afloat And Ailing In The Arid Attic

Throat is sore

Glands are up

Banging head

Down on my luck

Confined to my bed

But too hot to sleep

Missing the air con

But for work I’m too weak

Swimming in

My own sweat

Stuck to the sheets

Which are wringing wet

Like a water bed

Or rather a paddling pool

My mattress has become la mer

But it’s stifling as oppose to cool

Life in the attic

Is an arduous affair

Sub Siberian in winter

Sweltering in summer sans any air

Oh, bring me an oscillating fan!

To waft me as I ail

In silver or white but definitely not black

Coordination with decor must prevail

I scour Argos

and Amazon online

But the fans are so plentiful

I cannot decide

Which one to order

And can they deliver?

Oh f**k, they’ve sold out

That’ll teach me to dither!

I’ll take a cold shower

If I can muster up the strength

To stand up for long enough

To get myself drenched

Nay, I’m too frail

At least at the minute

Thus my sweat sodden bed

Retains me in it

If I could just sleep awhile

Replenish my energy

Of this BO ridden pit

Could I at last be free

But this lurgey with which I’m afflicted

Coupled with the heat

Is keeping me awake

Sedate me, oh somebody, please!

I shouldn’t complain

It’s nice to have sun

But being broiled alive

Isn’t very much fun

Thus with the lobster

I utterly empathise

So torcherous and barbaric

A way to meet one’s demise

Fortunately I’m not a crustacean

Forcibly yanked by a net from the sea

I’m merely a girl with a viral complaint

Not viewed as a delicacy

Thus I should quit whining

And focus on being ill

For my head in the freezer could I stick

And with the frozen peas chill.