Poem: A Night at the Opera


A joyous night at the opera

Can be a perilous thing,

The performance might be glamorous,

But backstage is another thing


The tenor has a sore throat,

Soon to become oesophageal cancer,

And the mezzo-soprano has just lost a leg –

Good thing she’s not a dancer!


The backstage-crew are all well-to-do,

And often puff with pride:

“We only help you actors out

From a sense of noblesse oblige!”

The basso profundo is profound indeed,

He can scarcely move from his chair,

And if you think you’ve seen a mountain range –

It’s just his derriere!


The piano accompanist has a glass eye,

And it often goes a-roving;

A shrill F# sent it down the aisle –

Towards Hereford it was last seen moving


The conductor – he’s another matter together,

You should hear him scream and shout!

But after the show, he likes a pint glass or two,

To reinforce his gout


And don’t get me started on the chorus,

On our reputation they are a blot,

Most of them can’t remember the words –

I think they should all be shot!


And so you see, it’s all just an act,

As we dance in gleeful rage,

For we all return to weeping and moping,

As soon as we’re off the stage


And though half our members are close to death,

The fat women will not stop singing,

Decapitate your own head if you like –

Your ears will still be ringing


What a splendid night at the opera,

Though the altos went on ad nauseum,

And the stage manager had to be twice disinterred

From his grandmother’s mausoleum


For he’s a secretly a vampire,

But don’t let the audience know,

He might be inclined to drink their blood,

But he’s easy going as stage managers go


Still, we do it, year after year,

Out of perseverance and love,

And I hope you’ll forgive me if you see yourself

In any of those above


But on and on the show must go,

Please tell me you’ve brought some liquor?

And fervently pray to the god of your choice

That the bass’s arse won’t grow any thicker!




Poem: Infinite Brain


I have killed him!

It has finally happened!

The tramp is fallen – the

Messiah is slain! I went

To the entrance of his cave,

And cried out: “Come out,

You Serpent! You thing of Fleas!

You disseminator of nonsense, and

Social disease! I want to chop off

Your old gray head, and take

Hammer and chisel to your

Old, arthritic knees!”

He made no response – so

I crossed the threshold of his cave,

Where I found him, as usual, depraved:

He was drinking with one hand, and

Writing a Holy Book with the other;

All the while, taking a piss, on his

Own Earth Mother. I gave him no

Chance to escape, and stabbed him

Right in the side; and, as he drooled

Himself to death, he mischievously sighed:

“You may kill me now,

But I will only change form!

And, in another guise,

Your face I will deform!”

I scoffed at the tramp – at his

Mad, old words. But from the scar

In his side, a little boy emerged; and into

My own sorry flesh, a dagger was

Soon submerged. He said:

“The Tramp may be fallen –

The Messiah might be slain –

But you cannot kill his beautiful mind;

His infinite, obnoxious brain!

His pain is your pain;

And he will rise again;

You can kill the fleabag as much as you wish,

But the Messiah will never be slain!”

I clutched my entrails, my slithering

Bowels; I slipped on a shower curtain,

And grabbed my bath towels, yelling:

“Love live the tramp!

The Tramp is finally slain!

But, how I wish I could at last destroy,

That Infinite, Infinite Brain!”



Poem: Solar Voyage


How can we help but fall in love

With what kills us

When life that kills us repeatedly

Is what we crave the most?

I am not in the habit

Of chasing after life;

I find that if I sit still long enough

It’s only a matter of time

Before she wraps her legs around me

And refuses to let me go

Like a tourniquet of romance

Fancy a free lap dance?

Pour me a new liver

And let my heart out of its cage

And I’ll do almost anything you ask

Just don’t be gentle with me;

This porcelain was meant to be cracked

You can sweep me up in shards

And then pour me into your lap

Like a self-reviving jellyfish

I’ll just keep on multiplying

Or be as a terrifying embryo

That always wants to party

Even once the lights have gone out

And the guests have all gone home

But I will return someday

To show you my tentacles

And you’ll climb on the back

Of this outrageous cephalopod

And sail away with me

Into the sun

Never to come back


Poem: The Single Man


When you’re a single man

Underwear models are your only friends

Women come out of the walls

To tackle you to the ground

This is why men get wives:

To act as body guards

Against the unending hoards of nubile beauties

Always throwing themselves

As your smelly feet

Well, wouldn’t that be a treat!

Oh, Women of the World –

You know my number!

So give me a call at three in the morning

When you know I won’t answer


Poem: Just Talk


My cock hasn’t felt

This rock hard

Since I last killed a man

It was a splendiferous night

Red wine

Making me feel fine

As you roasted in the oven

But all of this is just talk

You know I’m a tender-hearted vixen really

I don’t want the blood of the dead

I want the blood of the living

Flowing through the arteries

Of all forms of life

Like a corpuscular wife

Loving you




Poem: Spiritual Slob


I disgrace myself

In every possible way

I am not a god

But a natural disaster

Who is also a god

If you’re going to worship me

I pray you do it sloppily

Set fire to your hair accidentally

Whilst lighting a candle to me

Stumble when you prostrate

And don’t forget to have a foul-tasting beer

Every time you chant my name

“We’re all in this together,” I say

As I wipe the spittle from your chin

May you never be too lofty

To shit all over yourself

A misplaced bowel movement

First thing in the morning

Makes reality want to shake my hand



Poem: Vows to Imaginary Wife


Well, we finally did it

We got married

But now that we’re hitched

I just want to clarify

A few things

That may have been


I did not marry you

To make my life easier

You are not an appliance

Or 40-Watt Toaster

I can burn bread without your help

And I have more respect for you than that

No, I am not after

Security or comfort

Only the security of knowing

You will always be by my side

Bringing me Hell, Fire,

And Authentic Tenderness

That I couldn’t buy at any price

May you always be

The Truth I do not know

The Bad news I need to hear

The ill-applied mascara

On the fluttering lashes of Samsara

All tied up

With ribbons and bow

May you be my obstacle

When everything is running smoothly

And the ambassador of my insecurity

When I can’t look people in the eye

Our sex-life will be as non-existent

As it is never-ending

Never able to keep our hands off eachother

As we couch-surf on different continents

You are my hot water bottle

Filled with lava

And the coffin I always

Like to climb inside of

That’s all I request of you

My imaginary wife

So get to work – get busy

I’m hungry for strife

POEM: Atomic Amor

love universe

The universe

Always gives me

So many kisses

Every atom

Doing its best

To smother me

With its atomic


Things might get messy –

Better get

The Cosmic Kleenex


I think I’m about

To cut loose

POEM: Filthy Fantasies


Most men

Are assailed by fantasies

They dream

Of the ultimate

Disembodied woman

The right lips

To chew off their phallus

The right breasts

To be suffocated by

The right debasement of self

To fulfil their squalid imaginings

The most erotic thing

I ever imagine

Is a kiss or a hug

I dream of being supported

Of being loved no matter what

Of having someone I can talk to

About absolutely everything

A welcoming mirror

That only reflects and intensifies

All the contentment of my life

Such filthy, filthy fantasies

It’s no wonder people think I’m insane

Longing for an intimacy

That has no shape or form

But I have punctured my promises

Just like the rest

So what right do I have

To talk?