30th January 2014

Sonnet 83

It's "Bottoms up" Show Bar laydees who need

To suffer misexpectation's reset

If paying punter's praise doesn't exceed


What cute girls run-up in MasterCard debt -

Resting dancers reading Cosmo report:

Not cool expecting flush'd suitors to show

Cash devotion - that's selling your looks short,

Babez - and then who'll wait for love to grow?


All those hard won notes lapdances impute,

All those middle agers marriage left dumb,

All those guys in hi-vis vests rendered mute -

Heavy breather's damp breath makes cash a tomb;

    Seals you up with the currency of eyes

    That all your punters in their praise devise.
  

29th January 2014

Sonnet 82


Singular Will focuss'd on his one muse,

 Back in the day we'd naturally ore-look

Those whom we had yet to know, love and use

If they weren't in the telephone book.

We all shared the same peely Wally hew

But flew abroad for some gigolo praise -

Once per annum we got deep tanned anew -

Waiting waiting for  the  white wedding dayes.

Hypermobility's what we devised,

Dodging that dead stasis nation tribes lend;

So when I Skype you that I sympathizde:

There's millions like me could be your musefriend.

    Singularist* sonnets Will might have (m)us'd -

    Would they leave us more or less (dis)abus'd?

*the Singularity - when artificial intelligence will overtake human intelligence.

27th January 2014

Sonnet 81


 Muses and musers whose  history will make

Dead pen men and widows (then they're rotten) -

Regardless how much care you poets take,

It's muse not poet who gets forgotten.

"Your name from hence immortal life shall have"

 Whatever you're worth it's more when you die,

As you appreciate beyond the grave:

Gold plated investments like you don't lie.

"Back Story" gone viral sexes up tired verse,

"Profile of A  Poet" is way o'er read,

Obituary writers love to rehearse

Profit forecasts before the  goose gets dead.

    (More laydee musers  than when Will dipp'd pen:

     Longevity still lives in names of men...).

26th January 2014

Sonnet 80

Francois, today all the Sundays will write

How you won't give any woman your name,

How Valerie smashed the Sevres and might

Throw some more if that actress shares your fame.

But since your worth wide as the Ocean is

First Lady's  not a beast you ought to bear;

Who wants officers of state hers 'n' his

Arm candy when the ring fails to appear?                 
 
Revered institutions can't stay afloat

Without virgin brides (just here for the ride?) 

To board the royal presidential boat -

Ask Charles - a "bidey-in"* hurts national pride.

      Hierarchical love won't go away,

     We treat it like gold - immune to decay.


*Colloquial scots for unmarried partner.

25th January 2014

Sonnet 79

BOGOFF BOGOFF BOGOFF slave migrant aid,

Midnight trawls under a Thai moon will grace

Acres of Tesco Metros - the decayed

Squid eyes in a blue plastic basket place.

She had the lingo, caught their argument

In Thai talk, in a rock pool hot tub pen -

"She's a big pink prawn!  Gods greedy invent!"

She sank her big mouth to the soup again.

You'll get thrown overboard, your broker's word,

Or fish four years for $30 - give

In or you're the fish smish food we afford:

They eat you, we eat them - it's how we live.

Half price double portions, BARGAIN! we say,

We eat what we are - it's not much to pay. 

24th January 2014

Sonnet 78


 We are what is the cyber bully's Muse,

A fountainhead pouring black poison verse,

Keyboard punched flat for suicidal use

Anons anon anon and on disperse.

Stuff that can never make young infants sing,

 Disable peer fear,  set doves free to fly,

Restore some gladness to broken of wing,

Distinguish comeuppance from majesty.

Yeah, it's been my effrontery to compile

Seventy seven sonnets rhymed by thee,

Distorted by  21st century style;

Halfway done* - I'm thinking - leave it be.

     I can't; I need you to help me advance 

     In  pure poetry through my ignorance.


*Shakespeare had  154 sonnets published.

23rd January 2014

Sonnet 77

My little tablet case, so sweet to wear

It like a handbag and a shame to waste

Time (plus scratched tablet damage I can't bear):

Frequent self-homage with a latte taste.

This camera shoots my  non-stop selfie show:

I, me, as  instant constant memory,

The "She" reflected all you get to know,

Immortals smiling for eternity.

Who's not worth searching I can't contain,

But whose profile's worth time taken to find?

"Those (friend groups) nursed, delivered from thy brain"!

No rationale can cloak the luddite mind.

The longer the deeper in it I look,

The more like stone it feels, the less like book.

22nd January 2014

Sonnet 76

"Hello world"* - we've got this weird sense of pride

In some spacecraft baby probing to change

(That's Man's scant second from midnight aside)

The view from where we came from - Big Big Strange...

Did love or sex in a void feel the same

For us (who're just one up from GM weed,

The stoneside of  stone sings our lover name:

"Rosetta are you betta...?"**)...?...We'll proceed...

Mr. Belea***, (Thank God?) they helped you...

Lost in the Underground (an argument...

With sliding doors...) what strangers do (not new)

...Still few aeons til sun's kindness gets spent.

So, we're rained-on space dust: same old same old...

I need what's under the sun**** to be told.


*Spacecraft Rosetta's first message  after hibernation on journey to land on Comet 67P/Churyumov-Gerasimenko and provide crucial insights into the evolution of the solar system and life on Earth.

**Sung by Georgie Fame and Alan Price, reached no. 11 in UK chart in April 1971.

***"A Romanian tourist lost for four days in London survived through the kindness of strangers, according to his family."
The Times , January 21 2014.

****Ecclesiastes 6:1 "There is an evil that lies under the sun..." - yes, but...


 

21st January 2014

Sonnet 75


Not trying three-in-a-bed in your life,

Not owning your own pad with garden ground,

Not defending recycling's useless strife,

Wearing someone's La Perla pants you've found,

Drunk texting celebs @ #anon,

Thinking Saville was a national treasure,

Wanting to spend next Hogmanay alone,

Wearing  small real furry things for pleasure,

Accepting prone beggars as normal sight,

Thinking that Botox might be worth a look,

Greeting shareholder windfalls with delight,

Scrounging bens is the lifestyle choice they took.

    No-one wants like Will to be good today -

    Forgiveness is just a detox away.

19th January 2014

Sonnet 74


Four kids under 5 gets like house arrest,

 It was much better when  you were away.

I'm not saying Dad didn't show interest;

But 2 days is max man or fish  should stay.

When you look at them now "...thou dost review

The very part (that's) consecrate to thee",

50%'s genetically  your due -

Emotionally - let's hope they're mostly me.

It's fortysomething v domestic life,

(The goddess thing may be presume'd dead

Killed by a ((sly)) Cut with the Kitchen Knife* ),

Women need jobs to feel remember'd .

The dilemma - each one of them contains

Most of me: who would still want what  remains?


* Book of collages by Hannah Hoch - artist working during the Weimar, and one of the originators of photomontage.

18th January 2014

Sonnet 73

29 years in the jungle* - behold!

God's last chrysanthemum they failed to land,

Duty, honour, all the stuff that goes cold;

 Not how or what we sing but that we sang.

(Small Internet of Things running us day

And night - wherever that is - East to West

Secrets hoovered up like leaves, stored away,

No freedom's too big to be laid to rest.)

Chemistry's in us - oxytocin's** fire

A post-coital glow , burns so we don't lie,

So faithfulness takes some time to expire.

My advice (in spite of science) - Stay Strong!

Can 29 years really be that long?



*Hiroo Onoda - the last Japanese imperial soldier to emerge from hiding in the jungle 29 years after the end of WW II.

**The  hormone of love and cuddle chemical

17th January 2014

Sonnet 72

...tho' Shakespeare urges us not to recite

False declarations of post-mortem love,

And  Deirdre Saunders* has always been quite

Firm re. marrieds having nothing to prove:

Why spoil his memory for a big white lie

(Sickens me like a MaccyD's dessert),

So he had an Id bigger than my "I",

Where's the cheat's law says what we  must impart?

All I don't want to say is here in this

Frankenstein verse, ugly but not untrue

Apologia for old Shakespeare     is

Much more than I owe decease'd you.
  
Bring it on, you kiss 'n' tells, bring it forth;

Widows win with legal and moral worth.


*Erstwhile agony aunt for ""The Sun" newspaper.

16th January 2014

Sonnet 71


Another industry - libelling the dead

Once you've been burnt after last orders bell

Legal obligation to keep mum's fled:

Who knows where this wife's vengeful pen will dwell?

God only knows how I'll miss you (but not),

Would it help to publish your texts so

The real you only I knew's not forgot,

Public property's real attendant woe?

But can I still live off your song and verse

When cracks show up in tuneful feet of clay/

Exposes get little time to rehearse,

Hypocrisy gone viral won't decay,

    O twittersphere tweeting your mourning moan,

    But how to kid on I'm sad that you're gone ?

15th January 2014

Sonnet 70

New Industries 1 - Your Photo's Defect:

Perfect for Less Than a Glance (who said fair?

Once the laydee roots start growing suspect,

Bleach them! or you're breathing yesterday's air).

When we're past that sell-by young guys approve,

What's left of life if it's not a good time?

All the old honeyz  love affronting love:

Reps. don't count for senior babes in their prime.

Late Lady Di and me - shared our b'days

(It was that old Queen Mum should've been charged),

She got caught in a gilded cage of praise

""To tye up envy, ever more inlarged".

    I'm not really the type to put on  show,

    I just wish I'd had what I feel I owe.

14th January 2014

Sonnet 69

If you want what's my Strictly biased view,

Of  Big Brother celebs trying to mend

 X-Factors long past when their sell-by's due -

Self-annihilation's what I commend.

You kings, queens of the big bug-swallow crowned -

Who stays famous if they're left on their own

 Minus a voting public to confound?

(Wiping their bums is what doesn't get shown)

Does what we say he/she said make them kind

Of like us?  Are we all fame hungry weeds

Mass exposed to sway some collective mind?

Big faux outtakes of jolly japes and deeds:

This unreality's the only show

Where it's crystal clear what tongues love to grow.

12th January 2014

Sonnet 68

Your real deal A-listers don't get out-worne,

Their red carpet shots look hot then and now,

George Clooney!  The leading ladies he's borne

Appreciate up close perma-tanned brow;

Looking gorge, George, even when playing dead -

Filmgoers would rather die than look away,

Can't stop loving his foxy (implants?) head,

Grooming this good's not just for guys who're gay.

Hubby's sooo unprepared to play that scene,

His credo is "To thine own moobs be true",

And "Nasal hairs maketh the man not greene".

You claim I'm trying to deflate you (what's new?!);

Get your snot vines clipped or see what's in store

For a peasant extra from days of yore.

11th January 2014

Sonnet 67

Momentoes mori in ceramic live

On my mantelpiece with impiety,

Small monuments  3D printers achieve

For top to bottom of society;

Let us stroke our dearly departed's cheek,

Digitally rendered magenta hue,

Text RIP condolences we seek -

Sad predictive tributes don't keep us true.

Once we've lost our plastic looks, the choice is

To struggle on with ever bigger veins

Or...end it.  Back to earth, give God  what's his,

Make some space for world population gains.

    Dust to dust  in miniature, what you had,

     Hey it's no Hilliard,* but it's not bad!


*Nicholas Hilliard 1547 - 1619.  Known for his miniatures of members of the court of Elizabeth 1.  "The central artistic figure of the Elizabethan age...The only English painter whose work reflects, in it's delicate microcosm, the world of Shakespeare's earlier plays."

10th January 2014

Sonnet 66

Tired with all these, for restful death I cry,

As to us beggars good Prince George was born,

And payday loan sharks promise jollity,

And "A man's a man for a' that's"  forsworn,

And crimper's honour shamefully misplaced*,

And Under 5's Beauty Queens strumpeted,

And Mums' baby fat wrongfully disgraced,

And who's poor by who's rich disabl'ed,

And same small rich left in authority,

And X Factor judges manufacturing skill,

And "brand value" dwarfing simplicity,

And industrial foods making us ill.

"Tired with all these, from these I would be gone,

Save that to die I leave my blog alone".


*MBE awarded to Prime Minister's hairdresser.

8th January 2014

Sonnet 65


Her death as time - Stevie Smith lost at sea,

Pink arms waving the hands to chime some power

Of projection on seawash wall , her plea:

Wreath of one biodegradeable flower.

Japonnais- tight paper garden scrolls out

Countdown; le petit mort of sex and days,

They'll be fewer if you've got too stout -

(Which is) immaterial once decayed.  

We share most genes with bananas, alack,

So here's to er, peeling off your skin, kid,

And us evolving from our egos back

To a time when self-regard was forbid.

This poet types her font style late at night,

 A Rokeby Venus* keeps your blank screens  bright.


*ie The Toilet of Venus ("The Rokeby Venus"), 1647-51
Diego Velazquez, 1599-1660.  Venus reclines on a bed before the mirror held up by Cupid.  The reflection shows her face, suggesting that she is observing the viewer rather than herself.

  

7th January 2014

Sonnet 64

No one needs this span on green earth defaced

With thoughts of slow death intruding late age;

Let's swear by The Shard we'll never be razed -

Cancel the hearse, I've got RIP rage.

What goes around comes around's zero gain,

It's hell that's waiting on the care home shore,

And the firme soile win of the watry maine

While it eats up  your savings what's in store...

...Or Evita ,  six weeks lying in state,

But not a spectacle of rank decay

For waves of  devotees to ruminate,

Their peroxide blonde angel flown away.

Painted living statues, die when we choose,

Time's an inconvenience - what's not to lose?

6th January 2014

Sonnet 63

7.20am and you're up now,

Last night's too tired and emotional , (ore worne?)

For coming to bed: you slept on your brow

Face down on the sofa until this morn;

Small birds have intelligence to know the night

Belongs to owls and not any drunk king,

Even loud cocks manage to stay out of sight

Love - If you've SAD - hibernate til Spring

Or I'll be a widow and fortifie

My lost youth under some skilled surgeon's knife

While your whiskey-lined face is a memory

I'll take a stab at swinging single's life.

Cheers!  Keep drinking (fish forget what they've seen),

You push it up, I'll be spending, what's green.

5th January 2014

Sonnet 62

I've tried to see you through an artist's eye,

In pencil, weigh each proportionate part,

But at last use the rubber remedie

To mark an empty outline for your heart.

 With this dispassionate insight of mine,

All perspectives taken into account,

You'll be no less or more than I define -

What eyes don't see, I don't have to surmount.

I've tried to draw other models, indeed,

They'd yet to encounter antiquitie,

Hot gorgeous  young guys who I failed to read,


(I wasn't blind to this iniquity!)


     Whoever I drew didn't draw much praise -

    They all looked like you in our salad days.

4th January 2014

Sonnet 61

"Is it thy wil, thy image should keep open

My heavy eielids to the weary night?

Dost thou desire my slumbers should be broken,

While shadowes like to thee do mocke my sight?"

Why is your mobile turned off, wilful thee?

A hipster mum like me's too cool to prye,

My creed is there's nothing you can't tell me

I don't do teenage social Jelousie,

Still remember what makes wee small hours great

And it's not waiting for you, wide awake...

This Mumartyrdom's the final defeat -

Endured for some unconcerned offspring's sake.

We've bought good network coverage everywhere,

Cuz you're "...farre of, with others all too neere".

3rd January 2014

Sonnet 59

O God, what rapture my small black screen is,

Gets global lovers connected, beguiled;

Relief from whatever home has amiss -

Forget the wife, the dog, the messy child.

You know each other's every move and look,

There's nothing new for you under that sun,

Young love's disenchantment - we wrote the book,

Our lifetime's masterpiece is all but done.
 
Scroll down your text years, whispering what they say:

Lovers, deceivers (What affaires they frame!)

Still breathe  endearments sent from you to they,

Full qwerty French kissing feels same old same.

Dead thumb'ed bards and bardesses these days

Live  in saved histories of much text'd praise.

2nd January 2014

Sonnet 60

Laydees, just 'cos 50's no far-off shore

Our sex lives can't meet with a peaceful end:

(As they did at 30 for us before

We'd long retirements with which to  contend)

My libido blinks with  deceiving light

Through time and space from a long dead star; crowned

Good Queen GILF* and yet still this losing fight

Holding back waves of old age that confound

Baby Boomer's birthright: eternal youth

Necessitating much botox to brow,

What's time but dead cells obscuring the truth?

Coitus desire - now that's harder to mow,

    For stars must live  (my dementia's last stand?)

    By Viagra's iatrogenic**  hand.


*Granny I'd Like To F***

**Disease caused, not cured, by medical intervention (as described by Austrian philosopher Ivan Illich in the 1970's).