Insomnia— a Sonnet

The night must love me, for it wants me so, 

No is no answer, for I'm still awake. 

The moon 'tis my Pimp, and I am its Hoe,

Me? I'm thinking what a fucking piss-take.

Dreaming of sleep... how bloody ironic,

My eyes, malicious bastards, still are wide,

Yet in the daytime I'm catatonic,

Dark is my Master: Light, my Bit On The Side.

I signed no contract agreeing to this,

Yet my unspoken words I'm forced to bite.

Oh you, Starry Skies, please feel free to kiss

My arse, as tomorrow I'll put up a fight.

Yeah, I may get pimp-slapped, beaten black-blue

But I'm fucking sick of being Night's Whore.

I think you've bitten off more than can chew- 

I've bought sleeping pills once; I'll just buy some more. 

HA. 

Oh Sleep, where are you, you deep, dark pit? 

For my slumber pattern is shot to shit. 

I'm a little bit angry... 

Polly Brown : 01 Feb 2011 06:26 |  Tags: Poetry |  Comments (2) |  Close comments |  Report a problem

Judith Butler — A Sonnet

So much to learn about the modern world!

Both genders have gone! Instead fine ideas, 

Femininity has been unfurled, 

And the oppressed women cry out their cheers. 

While the men, on the outside looking in, 

Make a pact, promising mass suicide,

And the females, they quickly lose their grin, 

For soon after exposure comes the tide. 

We are the same! We want the same! We must

Join up the genders, it's now two for one! 

And men hang up their jackets in disgust, 

Each reaching for their individual gun. 

Oh Butler, I'll take your message to the bank, 

But your theory is truly a pile of wank. 

I'm glad that after much work, thought, and deliberation I have finished my sonnet. What else did she want? 

Polly Brown : 28 Jan 2011 14:42 |  Tags: Poetry |  Comments (1) |  Close comments |  Report a problem

Shenanigans

Shenanigans- 

Someone sexy standing in a doorway 

With a pipe and a dry voice 

That matches the grain of the wood.

And you're left sitting on the carpet

Playing Bingo with mummy dear

When you're supposed to be

Finding the cure for 

Attention Deficit Disorder. 

Draw it out. She-nan-i-gans. 

The very syllables make you want to do 

The oddest things. 

Like tasting a strawberry and realising 

It tastes like an orange. 

So you convince anyone who will listen that it tastes 

Like a pineapple. 

If you have no imagination however, it will merely remind you of a foreign native gesturing towards an elderly lady holding some pretty offensive weapons. 

Polly Brown : 20 Jan 2011 23:57 |  Tags: Poetry |  Comments (0) |  Close comments |  Report a problem

Rewrite of 'The Road Less Travelled' by Robert Frost

And sorry 

I took the one less travelled that morning, by the way, 

because I had no step in stood. 

                                                 Sigh. 

Two roads diverged both telling this

somewhere yellow. 

I doubted it. 

Hopefully this will make Cynthia happy :D. Not seeing the attraction myself... 

Polly Brown : 20 Jan 2011 23:52 |  Tags: Poetry |  Comments (1) |  Close comments |  Report a problem

Surgery

I dont create monsters monsters create themselves this is art dip of the delicate needle and hes sitting opposite me fresh legs crossed still bleeding from the new ears i gave him i dont like his eyes they were brown once long ago before the world went mad theyre yellow now basking in new depths of insanity that i can neither taste nor touch im on the wrong side i know it i know it but i love that little boy little wolfie little dean he gets to his feet and i can see that his grotesque parody of bunny disguise suits him well gold link chain time lasts forever what have i done little dean little wolfie may your time last but not his rabbit rabbit the moons brighter tonight hes coming at my hiding place shadows tell tales close closer yellow eyes thats not my son thats not my son not with the yellow eyes his are like mine we match we mirror is that blood on your hands is there blood on mine out out out damn spot gold link chain my father your father our father hes hallowed im shallowed reduced to a canopy of leaves in the moons dew my father your father thats not my son thats not my son thats not my son the bright lights hurt my head theres still flesh on the table little dean remove your tail wolfie i can hear your howl do you understand what im telling you can you do it i cant grandfather no no no no no do you understand what im telling you can you do it i did i do i will i shall i dont know what you look like anymore do you know how i look you did it flashing glass on a gold link chain i can make you right i can make you live i can make you live through others like im living now come to me leaving the city leaving the lights this isnt glamour i cant play your game im not allowed he said so all those years ago i let him go should i be ashamed of him i can feel the shame in myself i failed him hes not my son im not his father ive got my own game now newly invented and theres only one player youll make that fatal mistake tonight and youll be all mine a pawn in the palm on my hand flashing glass on a gold link chain youve become that to me nothing else you should never abuse the power of science yet as the power of science abused me you stood there and watched you will be mine tonight disguises stripped and well recognise i just hope i recognise you first hes like the dad i never had ya know i get the feeling that he thinks this is a real rat race i get that yeah i do but he still helps me gives me a little bit of special treatment that nobody else gets not even him and i know hes the leader but i feel so proud and im beginning to regret im beginning to forget and sometimes i think its not too late and we can escape together me and the dad i never had but im scared yeah you gotta understand you dont leave without reason and you definitely dont leave without saying goodbye little dean little wolfie its not too late its never too late we can leave we can leave tonight imsick of the stitching and sewing cleaning blood off the table and my hands iloveyou

littledeaniloveyousonialwayswillalthoughwedontseeeyetoeyetoothtotoothiwatchyouthrough

theleavesandknowyouresafefornowyourecomingtomeicanfeelitillneverforgetthosebrowneyesmyneedleandmyscalpelmeannothingtomeaslongasivegotyoulittledeaniloveyouitsnottoolate

yourecomingicanfeelitflashingglassonagoldlinkchainoutoutoutdamnspotivegotmyowngame

nowasiwatchyouwalkonbyignoringtheshadowsthattellthetalesyoudontleavewithoutreasonandyoudontleavewithoutsayinggoodbyerabbitrabbiticantgrandfatheridididoiwillitsnottoolateits

nottoolateitsnottoolate

Polly Brown : 02 Dec 2010 07:01 |  Tags: Fiction |  Comments (0) |  Close comments |  Report a problem

Kitchen Talk

There once was a bunch of maths geeks

Who insisted that they were not freaks

All is not gone!

It's negative one!

But nobody cared 'cus they'd all died of boredom.

This, I like to believe, is an inspirational little non-limerick. When you are the only one sitting in your kitchen who doesn't do maths or a maths related subject, your boredom threshold is rather short. The lack of rhyme or even metre in the final line symbolises my utmost confusion when some poor soul is trying to describe the intricacies of matrices. What can I say? I am not of a mathematical mind.

Polly Brown : 02 Dec 2010 00:56 |  Tags: Poetry |  Comments (1) |  Close comments |  Report a problem