Poetry Blog by Phil Kay

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raypool on The Depths of Stillness. (Wed, 6 Jul 2016 04:31 pm)

Rebecca Miller on The Depths of Stillness. (Wed, 6 Jul 2016 04:27 pm)

Phil Kay on The Depths of Stillness. (Tue, 5 Jul 2016 09:53 pm)

Phil Kay on Betrayed by the hands. (Sun, 3 Jul 2016 11:49 am)

Wolfgar Miere on Betrayed by the hands. (Sun, 3 Jul 2016 09:30 am)

elPintor on Betrayed by the hands. (Sat, 2 Jul 2016 06:21 pm)

Stu Buck on Betrayed by the hands. (Fri, 1 Jul 2016 07:01 pm)

Ian Whiteley on Betrayed by the hands. (Fri, 1 Jul 2016 06:30 pm)

raypool on Betrayed by the hands. (Fri, 1 Jul 2016 05:28 pm)

Wolfgar Miere on Betrayed by the hands. (Fri, 1 Jul 2016 12:49 pm)

I don't know what to say about this. I hope you don't either.


0300 Zulu

Beer wine whiskey

You there

On that wall



For what


Look at me

I’ll hurt you


I’ll break your legs

Look at me


Ah your here

Your girlfriend

Was behind the 



Thats ok then

Don’t look 

At me

Keep walking.


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The pain
Has no name
It travels in vain
It shows disdain.
It takes all.
It gives heroes.
It gives orphans.
It gives hope.
But no one knows who started it.

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The Depths of Stillness.

When there’s nothing left but an empty heart

When all thats left will pull you apart

When you look at the sun and see a cloud 

And look at a cloud and feel despair.


You turn a corner and see a hill.

And what they offer is just a pill.

And the pain you feel, that, just can’t kill.

All you can do is sit very very very still.


When you try to run its a tiny step


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Betrayed by the hands.

Check the bolt

For action

Hands slip and slide

Mud and sweat

Sweat and mud

“Alright mate”


“Alright mate”


“We’ll be alright”


Said a thousand times 

a thousand times

“Alright mate”


Check the bayonet

Check the bolt

Fucking hands


And sweat

Fucking hands


“Alright mate”

Fuck fuck fuck fuck


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Orchard Park Housing experiment Hull 1960's

Young alive on Orchard Park.
Always dismal sometimes dark.
Watching dogs shit in the street
Paperboy quotas to meet.
Lordly castle thrown up cheap
Two up two down lovers leap.
Two trees to climb keeping fit
One field to play with kids and kit.
Fucking field full of dog shit.

Three blocks of flats
Filled up and run by twats.
Old people shipped quotas to meet

It's like abroad after B...

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Stories to tell..

Cathy was my friend.

I was twenty.

Cathy was twenty three.

she worked 

at British Home Stores.

On the counter

where lipstick

and smells jostled.

Colours for the nose.

Candy for the eye.


She was pretty.

Very pretty.


We’d meet in 

The pub.

“The Cheese”.

We’d drink. 

We’d get stoned.

And go and 

have sex.

We didn’t 

make love.



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Banal Repetition...

What is it


Just before bed

Or intrusion

In your head

Or interrupt

Like a pixel fool

Your football fix


How many?

You don’t remember.


How many goals

Three to two

You’ll never forget

Had a winning bet.

How many

You don’t recall

But you love

That winning goal


I’m just saying

Bodies by the ton..



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Drinking was dangerous.

I’m glad Mr Browning is

No longer my mate

the eyes in...

The back of my head

See red mist 

And a wall

With a picture 

Screaming in its


Grey fat 


Drips and slides

Wars late


Impulse is fun

But to be


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Valparaiso 1980 modern guilt...

Bob Dylan 

Guided people to their places

In the cemetery

Wearing a top hat

We were gone


To Valparaiso

The Horn was sick and busy

I vomited my breakfast.

Pinochet welcomed us

With hands held out.

Marlborough and whiskey and 

Threats with burp guns.

Dont mention Pablo…

Don’t mention the Stadium de Santiago.

Dragging mind in dirt

Like fifty filthy...

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I don’t know 

How about that

I think you are

A bit of a twat

Ive lived a life

Ive lost some words

Grandma cooked

Lemon curds

She’d been bombed

Id been conned

Into the same

No one to blame

Oh wait

Yes there is

Her lemon curds

And mince pies

Meant more then

Their lies

That she learnt

In a blackout

I didn’t learn

In an office

With a sh...

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Cyentha. Is that really you....

Dear dear Cyentha
our worlds have drifted apart
your words of love 
held my heart
and I dreamed of romance
in a foreign part
I thought 
i'd go the whole
wide world
i'd be in heaven
then I discovered
your a hairy bloke
with an AK47. 


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Hahaha so... WOL is now el Poff.

I am lonely

but not that loney

i am horney

but not that horney

i like frreedom

not invasion

for all 

thats gone before

I think 

need the moderator! 




cyentrha (15635) 
Send message



Phil Kay (15350) 
Send message

Reply Reply all Hello

Friday 3rd June 2016 8:49 pm

Hello my name is Cyentha.
i saw your profile at www.writ...

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Moderator... do your stuff.

Each life and Mary

Each life

Is our life

My life 

Not your


Your life

Is your life

Not my life

A commitment


We can peer

We can steer

We can


Be near

Over fear

Or drear

Shed a tear

A sharing


We can love

We can hate

We can holy 


Deep contemplate

Lost fate

Can’t create

Deaths sad state

Ive never seen so much nothing


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Undo the knot and paint me a portrait.

Undo the knot

Release the bindings

Free my mind

Drink my beer


Hold my hand

Walk my road

Take my mind

Inhale my fear


Kiss my heart

Lick my arse

Be unkind

Blind eyes clear


Throw down hate

Kill my face

Reflect mankind

Wash in tears


Fly higher

Live underground

Roots unbind

Kill all thats queer


Feel my death

Love yo...

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And So.

Splashing along 

Past the wall

Behind which

The off white


Stones stare

Back at 


And seekers

And pilgrims

And guests

Memento Mori


Seeking words

In ancient 


From long lost


And forgotten


Of every type

And custom

And history

Memento Mori


All the fears

Drawing near

Reduced by


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Amsterdam damage.

In late Nineteen eighty two

i was feeling very frail.

And on this occasion

went a bit off the rails.


Not really knowing

Who I am

I took myself off

To Amsterdam.


There I met a mate

Who was a little bit gone

Always called himself

by the name of Mad John.


He set me up there

with a nice little number.

Something to do,

A nice little number.


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Broken Amsterdam Hiding Lost


Fuck them

That aint us



In the pain 

And overflowing

Disdain for

Those we call



Are the greatest 

Of us

Hiding under


Of damage 

And fear


Hold them near


And dear

Drink their


To understand

The truth

Of your own lives


They are your


Living next door

Your fantasy


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To the drum.

Dressed as a pauper.

looks like a thief.

Pushing the boundaries 

Of your disbelief.

The raggedy man

in raggedy pants.

Arguing loudly

incoherent rants.

Stares covered in shame

Thinking of different

things to blame.

Don’t talk to him

he’s only a tramp.

Stay away from

his miserable stance.

Heap your scorn

on his shambling form.

Never minding why


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This was a Dylan day

Full of romance and


I sang along

With blood in my eyes

And wandered at

The women I have 


And would we still

Be together

If I was Bob Dylan

And was

Forever young. 


And tomorrow was 

A day of anger

And hate

And I sat in my car

And shouted


Rancid songs 

Out loud

At pedestrians

And driving 


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Stranger things

To discover a friend

Is so strange

The way of meeting

Is always rare

Minds in courtship

Feelings laid bare

Honesty given

Distrust is so easy

So how is it 


This friendship

What are the 


That declare

A bond for 


out there

A beautiful mind

I knew it for sure

When I heard

Of a flight

To mud compounds

And lost peo...

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Keemo Kids

Chemo Kids.

3 January 2015 at 22:39


Chemo kids,

say keemo kids.

Beautiful pale,



The chemo kids.

They can’t fail.

Inspire and scale

the towers of life.


So beautiful.

The chemo kids.

They take our hearts.

Each loving one.

Trembling, crying.

Limbo and laughter,


Painted eye brows.

Porcelain skin,


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Kids having Chemo cancer kids teens young people

Struggling through.

Struggling through

The weeds

Feet dragging

in sand

Sun glaring


With its


Of warmth

Trying to

Reach water

For the cool


She washed cum 

From the 

Palm of her hand

In a bowl of

Holy water

Etched a cross 

In the dirt on

The back of her


With the same


Feet cut on 

hidden glass

Pockets picked


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Homage to Joe

Punk rocker unrepentant

Why the fuck should I be?

Lose the resentment?

Have all the social jokes 

Become a real hilarity?

Yes I see it all the time.


Because they’re back!

But so are we.

We never left.

Here’s the litany of lies

Leading us to hang


Miners sorry for missing the truth.

Sorry Maggie, if it wasn’t for us 

You wouldn’t have to pay 

All t...

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Only Words.

Everyones spitting gritting hitting shitting whimsical pastures of pestilential sepulchritude. 

…Which is about someone spitting a dummy out and putting it back un-wiped in their gob. 

With thanks to lovely wordress Lynn.


Which made me think…


The masterful mastication of the master masturbators morose onanism is entrenched entrancement

.…watching someone wank. 



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A cynical moment in time. Sometimes I don't get it

My Granddad.

Granddad 1930



Grand lad

Blanket row


East Yorkshire


Battle garland

“Oppy wood”

18 yrs old

Covered in mud

Killing and dying

Mired in blood

Lived to

Be broken

Lived to be token

Of the man who

Left grandma’s house.


Became fist fighter

Became bare knuckle




Champion of 

Old Hul...

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Granddad WW1

Tears tears and love.

Today just now was a day of remembrence by Candlelighters for the lost children of cancer.

Too many words

In the head

Write them


Before bed.



A day of heroes

Hundreds of heroes

And hugs

And a Hero


My cowardice

Beautiful brave


Who came to give

With hundreds of 

Heroes and love

Too many to

Really name

All the same


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Candlelighters cancer care NHS families

My mate Nick.

His hands shook

His face contorted 

He fought with 

His stomach

Every morning

Slipped whiskey

In the coffee

At breakfast

Thought no one



His breath stunk

His skin was


He hadn’t washed

His eyes 

Were like


Stained glass


As he peered 

Out his blurry

Life at the



3rd Engineer



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bbc is Tory TV.

A quick topical banger...... written on the fly. 

I want to opt out of my license fee. 
I want to opt out of the bbc.
i want to feel media free
not listen to em take the pee.
Don't want the bbc any nearer
I always watch Al Jazeera.
So really I aint been funny
i'd sooner give them my money.
Its about me having a voice
and exercising my right to choice.
Now bbc TV is Tory TV
they reall...

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bbc Tory license

Warsaw 1944 Ghetto

Warsaw 1944 Ghetto


Men women and children

Pushed behind a wall

A barbed wire fence

Starved of sustenance

Limited health care

Slow education

No job opportunities

Daily fear of death

Racial hatred

The constant anger 

And fear of the gun

Made to live in squaller

Hopeless children

No place to call home

Summary execution

Crammed together

No hope n...

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Anti semite?

Heard this happened. Who knows.


They ran wild in woods

Full of bears

And carried bells 

And pepper spray

To keep the bears at bay

They knew no fear

The road was clear

Safety a written rule

They laughed and frolicked

And mocked the wild life 

with their bells

And hid behind 

Their pepper 

Until one day

Invited to stay

At a vets on the hill

In weather a 

little drizzly

He ...

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Wildlife. Bears. Tourists.

Punks and the Dolls.

Heres something... but I think you have to be a certain "age" to keep up. Written for fun and good memories shared.  Its a longy but I dig it. Its modified but verified! Oi Oi! 



Punks and The Dolls or A Poem for People


Punks and The Dolls came out to play

On another heavy make up day.

Claiming anarchy in the UK.

What a contentious thing to say.

With the Damned and ...

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Punk Rock politics the seventies autobiography

My Son My Sun

My son

My love

My beautiful boy


You gave me


I kissed 

Your brow

And saw sun

Upon your 


And fire


Your mind


To hold you 

Was the most

Of the best

Of the greatest

Feelings flowing


And I

Loved you





I need to kiss

Your brow

I need to hold

Your hand

I n...

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My Son Loss Pain Emptiness memories

Blaire Peach 1979

Blaire Peach 1979


April the 23rd 1979

Lives destroyed

Peace out of reach

The terrible death

Of Mr Blaire Peach


We’d gone to Southall UB1

London town

Wearing badges 

and a frown

And marched our anger


The National Front

The enemy at our gates

They waved the Union Jack

They raised right arms

In fascist salute


The police charged us


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Blair Peach SPG Thatcher Murder Police

Write now every day.

The fight 

Is so fucking



And deep. 


Deeper then

The sea


Pain lashed



Minds lost

In fathomless





Brassy deep


Dyed blond


Knickers in 


A drawer

With her


Frontal lobe



The search

Goes on




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Chaos Life Judgement mental health

Cancer Care (or anything else for that matter)

                                                       When you have cancer

                                         The world becomes smaller.

                              The world becomes hospitals.

                  Chemicals and Nabilone.

        Hope and dreams to confess.

Free for you from the NHS.

So the world is smaller

Yet its also bigger.

Because the fight that ...

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Cancer NHS

Your Seven

Walking hand in hand

Your seven.

Wide eyes.

Big world.

Small warm hand

Reaches for and

Buries in my paw.

Mans hand, callouses and oil.

But still fists full of love.

Protection and love.

We kick leaves.


Golds and reds.

Asphalt coated

In browns and beauty.

The leaves fly up

Whirl and flow


Unplanned patterns.

Stick to our shoes


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Love. Father. Son.

The thief of life.

The thief of life stole furtively onto the dance floor. 

And danced his dance of death.

Which became a dance of life :-)

A vast ballroom full of balls.

Spinning and backdrops showing the soul.

fearlessly stacked on high kicking legs.

Singing blossoming ballads of beauty.

The fight back shouts choruses of courage.

And sambas of selfless serenity.

Mohamed and Jesus pogoed ...

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Don't be the fool.

I saw a man who had no teeth.

Sneaking round the library,

looked like thief.

One eye cast to the floor 

The other, glass, saw no more.

And as his wig did slip

I saw no evidence

Of ear nor tip…. and

He turned a page with prosthetic hand

His thumb was attached with a plastic band


Then to my horror I saw a hole

Close, very close to where we would have a nose.


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Dancing in the mind.

When I dance in my minds eye with angels.

And fear being deserted and alone.

I saw the old woman in the church yard 

saying another goodbye at the same stone

painting another farewell scene of ancient love.

And I don’t fear that which lies beneath the grass

deep in soil and farewell clothes 

and trinkets of memories sent on a journey

of hopeless hopes and boundless groundle...

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Love and loss faithless religion

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