Poem: Will You Hold My Hand In The Zombie Apocalypse?

Photo by Michael O'Sullivan Photography

I wrote this to read out at my wedding just 4 days before the big day, according to the date in my notebook.  My wife rather likes zombies.  I think my introduction was something along the lines of, "Now, I'm not normally one for writing sentimental love poetry.  So I haven't.  I wrote this instead."

So today is our first wedding anniversary.  Which is paper.  And I read this off a bit of paper.  Which is fitting.  (Happy anniversary, darling.)

***

Will you hold my hand in the zombie apocalypse?
I mean, I know that you said
You'd like to kill the undead
With a double-headed axe
But perhaps I could ask
You to consider a more practical weapon instead?

Will you hold my hand in the zombie apocalypse?
I mean, I couldn't be sure
That the house is secure
From violence and theft
If I only use my left
Hand to hammer some boards
To the windows and doors
But maybe if the electricity still runs
I could use a nail gun.

Fingers crossed, eh?

Will you hold my hand in the zombie apocalypse?
Then, if I die,
If I cease to exist,
You could cut it off at the wrist
And using my end
As a means to fend
Off would-be attackers,
You could ensure my demise
Would help halt the rise
Of the zombie hordes...

And of course,
If you were to modify it with spikes
So that in the midst of a fight
You could make a cheap pun about FINGER NAILS...
Those are the sorts of little details
That would make me really very happy.

I mean, if we were to hold hands in the zombie apocalypse,
I just think we'd look really really cool.

***

T-Shirts And Stuff | Greetings Cards And Stuff

Video Blog Thursday: The Girl Who Collected Goats

Hello!

Not done one of these in ages, and I still haven't been back on a regular schedule on here, not least because I'm in a play at the moment.

But here we go.  I wrote this poem on the way to a spoken word gig at The Goat Inn in St Albans.  I'm not sure if it might have been subconscious, but it was totally unintentional that I wrote a poem about goats on the way to a pub called The Goat.  As much as I'd like to take credit for that.

As usual, it's very silly...

Direct link to video

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Link Of The Day: Dying For It - the play I'm in! It's in Brockley from 21st October to 8th November, so do come see.


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Babestation's On Freeview

I wrote this on the bus on the way home from a stand-up comedy gig a couple of months ago, about the idiots who were on the top deck with me.

***

"Can you get Babestation?"
say the grown-ups on the 134 bus.
"Babestation's on Freeview!"

I sit on the top deck at the front
while they continue to talk,
and I try to think of things to write.

"Why don't you go talk to him?"
say the women to each other.
And I decide to go downstairs.

I stand up and turn for the stairs.
"Aw, Harry Potter's leaving!" says one.
"Bye Harry Potter!" says another.

But not like the Year 8 kids
at my last school, who added,
"It's a compliment, sir.  Harry Potter's cool."

So while the grown-ups get loudly drunk,
I make my way quietly home from
making a roomful of people laugh.


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Link of the Day: Things Are Looking Up In 2056

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Dances In Frances: New Audio Recording

I recently made this recording of Dances in Frances, a poem I originally posted in March 2007 and which features what is still my favourite rhyming couplet I've ever written.

It's a cheery story about the gruesome consequences when a little girl is sick and loses her appetite.


[Direct link to audio]

If you want to read the original poem, you can find it here...


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Link of the Day: Tea Party

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The Peacock Of Trust

I wrote this one ages ago, but only just got around to drawing the illustration...


The Peacock Of Trust

Once, a peacock made a promise
to be trustworthy and honest,
and it was made to win
his special fancy's heart.

And so he built an institution,
one of financial solutions,
an endeavour quite
successful from the start.

He soon built a reputation
for impressive augmentation
of his customers'
investments in his firm.

He could make their value double,
even triple, or quadruple,
before they'd even reached
their quarter term.

And so investors came a-flocking,
with their savings in their stockings,
to deposit it
in one of his accounts.

And his fancy became lover
to his very own half brother,
blaming work which caused him
always to be out.

Incensed by this arrival
of his relative and rival,
he decided he should
focus on his looks.

And so he shampooed all his feathers,
bought a jacket made of leather
and now he turning heads
wherever that he walks.

But once he'd lost his focus
on financial hocus pocus,
his stocks and shares
collapsed right through the floor.

And so he's stayed quite firmly single,
while his businesses have dwindled,
and now he's filing for
his bankruptcy, what's more.



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Link of the Day: Excerpts from "How To Be Perfect"

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An Ending

I watched Hugo last night.  It's an absolutely stunning film, the sort that makes me feel inspired to create something after watching it.  Quite often I then can't think of any good ideas, and I thought that might happen last night, but was pleased then to find myself writing this poem.

Feel free to just listen to the recording, or just read it without the audio, or read along with me.

Also, HAPPY NEW YEAR!

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An Ending

Pam looked down at the doll in her hand.
She could feel the sand on her skin.
Sand she could not put back in.
Couldn't begin to know where to start
Cos deep in her heart…

The doll was split, the sand was gone,
All of it on the soggy ground
As the rain came down
And washed it all away.

And before you say…

Dinosaurs With Jetpacks!

A poem! I've done a illustration and recording and EVERYTHING!




Dinosaurs With Jetpacks

Friends! Welcome to our circus!
We're so pleased that you could join us
for the show that we've
put on for your delight.

So please do not be alarmed.
We're quite sure you won't be harmed
by the monsters that
we're setting loose tonight!

Soon you'll be witnessing a blizzard
of remarkably large lizards,
the like of which
you've never seen before.

Their new style of acrobatics
is so modern and dynamic,
that it's sure to leave
your jaws upon the floor.

We've a Stegosaurus troupe
who perform the loop-da-loop,
and the most skilful
spinning Triceratops around.

And you can't say that you're alive
Til you've seen Tyrannosaurus dive,
and then stop an inch
before he hits the ground.

There's never been a sight
quite like Diplodocus in flight.
It's enough to make
a Pterodactyl blush.

So come! See Velociraptors glide
and take a Pachycephalosaurus ride.
Once your airborne
it's really quite a rush!

So, Ladies and Gentlemen!
Please be upstanding
For your viewing pleasure…

DINOSAURS WITH JETPACKS!


Oh! Look! T-Shirts too! (and a mug)


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Birthday Face

It was my birthday on Friday and I spent it working with a load of teenagers on The Challenge, having lost my voice, and with, shall we say, "questionable intestinal conduct".  Almost as good as that birthday when I spent the night in hospital with suspected malaria.

A highlight of the day, therefore, was when my lovely friend Jo posted on my Facebook wall, the simple birthday message: "BIRTHDAY FACE".  How could I even consider not using that as the title to a birthday poem?

And since my lovely Challenge colleague Holly's birthday was next in line (today actually), she's the lucky recipient of this original drawing on her card and poem within.  It's only brief but it's the first poem I've written and been this excited about in I-don't-know-how-long.

So this is how I spent my evening in at home alone on my birthday. Rock on.


Birthday Face

Please hear this tale devoid of joy
About a sad and lonely boy.
Now, I'm sure his mum loves him to bits,
But he's got candles sprouting from his zits.
It's enough to make a grown man weep,
And also a fire hazard when he's asleep.
He never smiles, he's got no mirth,
There's butter icing through his girth.
He don't fit in in any place
And people call him 'Birthday Face'.



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Yet Another Three T-Shirt Designs

You know the drill by now:

"Good Egg/Bad Egg" [T-Shirts] [Greetings Cards] [Original Comics: Good Egg | Bad Egg]

"Umbeella" [T-Shirts] [Greetings Cards] [Original Comic]

"The Pen Who Cried" [Leaky Pen T-Shirts] [Greetings Cards with Poem] [Original Poem]



Link of the Day: This is a Work of Fiction

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Sketchbook 5: The Boy Who Cried Wolves

This is my most recent sketchbook doodle.  I actually have another 19 older ones queued up to be posted, but I wrote a poem to go with this one, so it gets a priority showing.

The Boy Who Cried Wolves

"Give us your lunch money!"
said the bigger boy.
"And give us your toys!"

"No,"
said The Boy Who Cried Wolves
on his first day at school.
"Shan't!"

"I said give us them!"
was the bully's reply,
and The Boy Who Cried Wolves
began to cry.

And although that day
The Boy Who Cried Wolves
lost his money and his toys,
none of the other boys
picked on him
or heard from the bully
ever again.

***

I suggest that this would be quite a useful superpower.  As long as the wolves didn't turn on you.


Link of the Day: We Are The One Per Cent

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The Pen Who Cried

Epilogue To The Pen Who Cried


I wrote this on a Monday
And I guess it served me right
That my pen leaked on the Tuesday
In my trouser pocket on the right.

(My leg is still a little bit blue.)

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[Edit] Now available on GREETINGS CARDS and also Leaky Pen T-SHIRTS and Accessories!



T-Shirts and Accessories | Greetings Cards

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Link of the Day: Negative Space

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The EvilFlea Spreadshirt Shop - funny, silly, geeky t-shirt designs featuring maths, science and nonsense

The Boy Gray

It's taken me a while to get around to posting this (sorry, very busy trying to be work-organised), but I recently entered a poetry competition for Jawdance, a spoken word night at Rich Mix in Shoreditch.

Poems had to be inspired by one of these photographs, and uploaded as an audio recording less than a minute long. I managed to win with The Boy Gray, my third poem below, and so got to perform it with the other seven winners at last week's Jawdance event. And forgot the words half way through. But *I* won, so ner.

Here are the poems, anyway:

Follow The White Arrow by evilflea (based on Photo 1)

Don't Step On The Cracks by evilflea (based on Photo 2)

The Boy Gray by evilflea (based on Photo 6)

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The Infinite Scarf

The other poem that I wrote on the train at half term at the same time as Sublimation, was about Laura's new scarf.  Which has no ends.

The Infinite Scarf

Laura's new scarf
is in a loop.
An infinite,
Möbius scarf
(possibly).

A purchase inspired,
I like to think,
by my tales of
The Infinite Hotel,
during which she
only pretended
to look bored and
disinterested.

I ought to explain
to her lofty
mathematical
concepts
more often.

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Link of the Day: Maureen

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Sublimation

Whoops.  Forgot to upload the next episode of The Girl Who Went Bing before coming to Laura's for the weekend.  Oh well.  Here's a (sort of) poem instead, written on the train at half term.

Sublimation

"Try using sublimation,"
she said.

"Direct your thoughts
and feelings
onto an object.
A piece of fruit.
A nectarine."

"Like dry ice,"
I said,
deliberately
confusing
the poetic
and scientific
definitions
of the word.

I wrote in my notebook:

Your cold dry ice for me evaporated
as I watched your carbon dioxide
diffuse into the air.

You're no great loss, I realised.
You're no oxygen.

"Have you ever,"
she asked,
"been seduced
by dry ice?"

"No,"
I replied.

"Hmm," she mused.
"I still prefer
nectarines."

***

Link of the Day: This film looks interesting. I *MUST* see this film.

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Men's T-Shirts, Women's T-Shirts, Pin Badges, Mugs and Canvas Bags at the EvilFlea Spreadshirt Shop

Trophy Wife

Laura asked if I'd mind if she pickled my hand when I die.  Of course not.

Trophy Wife

She keeps the
jar inside
his study
just below
c'tificates
proudly screwed
to the wall.

It makes it
onto the
mantlepiece
only on
most special
occasions
when guests stare,
resist the
urge to gag,
words stop and
refuse to
arrange them
selves into
sentences.

They never
understand
but it's so
important
for her own
sanity
that they see.

That she shares.

Her husband's
pickled hand.

The rest of
him, she keeps
for herself.

***

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P.M.A.

(image via)

I just got out of the new shower I never thought my landlord would actually get installed. So in the interests of believing in the impossible...

P.M.A.

Ask yourself:
Is it possible?
Is it probable?
Is it pull-it-off-able?

And if in answer
"No," you say
then try to do it
anyway.


***

I also found this image:

It's now (one of) my ambitions to own an office building just so 

I can rename all the floors things like "success", "victory", etc. (via)

And my personal favourite...

(image via)

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Tramstop Poetry

I wrote this one on the way home from work last week.  I'd been quite productive over the New Year period and I wanted to keep the momentum going.

  
Tramstop Poetry

Standing at the tramstop
after dark
trying to think of poems
I might write
about the night
perhaps

Or some childish adventure,
One as good as the one
my girlfriend
wrote about the denture
(well, dentist actually
but that wouldn't
have rhymed)

While all the time
all I can think of
is how I'm struggling
to think of a poem
to write
and end up juggling
the thoughts in my head
and write a poem
about that instead.

How Terribly Post-Modern Of Me.


Link of the Day: Misconceptions

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Career Dog

The other day Laura and I went for a walk in Greenwich Park, and it wasn't long before we saw a dog sniffing round the bottom of a tree.

"Curious dog!" I shouted (as you might expect).


Laura assumed I must have meant there was a dog in the window of the police car that drove past at the same time, because she heard me say, "Career dog!"  So this is my poem about a Career Dog.

Career Dog

You've changed.
You come home after dark
Not a wag nor a bark
and Wordlessly
You eat your supper
that I have prepared for you
My Hands
on the tin opener
My Hands
scraping with the fork
You give not a thought
for little old me.

You've changed.
It's all take take take
Where has this fake
you come from?
We used to have so much fun
You and I.
I know not why
we don't walk in the park anymore
don't throw sticks anymore
play dead anymore.
What's more important
than us?

Also, I have added an illustration to the first part of The Girl Who Went Bing, which was kindly offered by Rosie of Spotty Dog fame.  I love it.  I hope she's going to do more.









Tube picture from here
Dog picture from here
 
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Sock Puppets

This year (or should I say last year?) we spent New Year's Eve mostly drinking and making bean burgers and sock puppets.  This was hampered only slightly by the fact that Laura only owns one sewing needle.

Sock Puppets

My name is Zorga
but my friends call me George
I really don't know what
they call me that for.

Perhaps it's because
I have such a big head
or the way that my stripes
include green but not red.

Or the Tesco Wheat Biscuits box
supporting my face;
my internal tubular
ad-hoc neck brace.

Or my singular eye
that only looks down;
my permanent unfortunate
condescending frown.

Or my lip that is sewn
to always stick out;
my cheerful and strangely
unsulking pout.

Perhaps I will find out
the reason in time.
I just hope it allows
this poem to rhyme.

The dribble on Zorga's chin is actually from where I tried to stick a tongue on him with glitter glue.  Laura's sock puppet didn't have a name, but at the same time, paradoxically, it was called Michael.  Or Socksy.  And he can only look up.

Link of the Day: From the world of unnecessary design...

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Strong Man

I'm in the grip of a poetry writing frenzy at the moment.  Which is probably why a lot of it isn't very good.  This is a poem dedicated to Geoff Capes.  Please do visit his website, which appears to take some of its inspiration from the Geocities school of design.  And turn your speakers up.




Strong Man

Strong Man is
so very strong.
His arms and legs
are very long.
He shows them off
wearing a thong.
His favourite film
is called King Kong.
And every day
he plays ping pong.
Only a few
words rhyme with strong.

Yes, I'm aware that more words than that rhyme with 'strong'.  Answers on a postcard marked 'CYLINDRICAL FILING SYSTEM'.  (That means you, Jennifer.)

Link of the Day:  Any of the ones above.

Happy Boxing Day.

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