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Is it chicken flavoured?




Foreigner in my own land


Foreigner In My Own Land

Dear Mr Blunkett,
I know you can’t see,
but why do you have to
have us all on C C T V.

And now to make things,
a lot worse by far,
we’ve got to carry cards,
to show who we are.

I mean do I look like
I’ve come from out of state,
when all I want is a
bit of real estate.

I mean its our country
and were under the same laws,
but sometimes I feel like
I’ve been born abroad.

By the beach

Akumal Beach Webcam- LocoGringo Webcam- Riviera Maya Mexico(2)

By the Beach

At eleven in the morning
I watch the sunrise.
The picture gradually
changes from pitch black,
an outline of trees and then
finally I can make out
the colour of the sea.
At noon a man comes
and cleans off the seaweed,
same time everyday,
like clockwork.
Then another man
will write in the sand.
I don’t know what,
I can hardly read it.

The beach is sometimes sunny
and sometimes overcast.
When the sun is higher
the punters arrive,
lay down their towels,
and go for a dip.
The towels are sometimes
occupied and then sometimes not.
I wonder who is on the towels,
a fair maiden, middle aged man
or a family.
I follow them avidly
from my bed whilst the
picture gets refreshed
every twenty seconds.

This evening I lay in my room,
closed my eyes and imagined
I was actually there
beside the sea.
Although there was no sound
from my TV I could hear
the gentle lapping of the waves
and warm breeze
blowing in the palm trees.
I felt myself getting hotter and
hotter and then eventually rousing
myself to get out of bed
and into the water.

Bad Poem


I’m trying to write
the worst poem ever written,
but that would be too easy you say.

Hang on a bit. It ain’t that easy.
I’ve got a long way to go
to make it really bad.

You know the poems
you read sometimes
which just leave you stone cold,
well this should freeze you to death.

In fact I’m surprised you’re still
able to read this, as you’ve hit
the floor like a six foot ice cube
splintering into a million
tiny pieces.

And now you’re straining to pull yourself
together but I’m telling you
that it’s impossible,
as you’ve turned to water
and are lying in a puddle of
total despair on the floor.

So much for the poem, hey.