Poetry Blog by Richie Muster

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Martin Peacock on Get Up Off Your Fucking Arses! (A 7-Up) (Fri, 9 Aug 2019 08:50 pm)

Don Matthews on Get Up Off Your Fucking Arses! (A 7-Up) (Thu, 8 Aug 2019 11:10 pm)

Martin Peacock on Get Up Off Your Fucking Arses! (A 7-Up) (Thu, 8 Aug 2019 10:27 pm)

keith jeffries on Get Up Off Your Fucking Arses! (A 7-Up) (Thu, 8 Aug 2019 11:05 am)

Martin Peacock on They Be The Worst (Apologies to Mr. L.) (Tue, 9 Jul 2019 06:55 pm)

M.C. Newberry on They Be The Worst (Apologies to Mr. L.) (Tue, 9 Jul 2019 02:17 pm)

Brian Maryon on They Be The Worst (Apologies to Mr. L.) (Tue, 9 Jul 2019 02:03 pm)

Jemima Jones on They Be The Worst (Apologies to Mr. L.) (Tue, 9 Jul 2019 10:47 am)

Martin Peacock on Iron (For Him) (Tue, 2 Jul 2019 01:37 am)

Eiren Water on Iron (For Him) (Mon, 1 Jul 2019 04:49 pm)

Get Up Off Your Fucking Arses! (A 7-Up)

Complacency's no opt-out,

consoling ourselves thinking

that we've still got time to spare.

It's genocidal, no doubt

of that. Let's blow a fanfare

for ourselves - the world's sinking

and all we can do is pout!

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Let Justice Prevail (A 7-Up)

Surely, deforestation

is genocide by default?

To wilfully execute

such wanton atrocities

on future generations

undoubtedly constitutes

crimes against humanity.

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They Be The Worst (Apologies to Mr. L.)

They fuck you up, these brexit turds,

it's what they're born to, that's their rôle;

they fill you with their empty words

much as they shit into your soul.

 

Of course, they've heard it all before,

from parents - and grandparents too:

"compassion's out! You must abhor

those migrants, or they'll overrun you."

 

Racists perpetuate themselves

and make others like them,...

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brexitLarkinparody

Iron (For Him)

Iron is hard. Iron won't bend.

Iron-based wounds don't readily mend.

Iron is deaf. Iron can't listen.

Iron won't help when things go missing.

Iron is mean. Iron will kill

but iron can't soothe when things go ill.

Iron is there when violence calls

but what use iron when sadness falls?

Iron shouts orders. Iron prevails

when the voice of compassion fails.

Iron can cut an...

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Be Strong, Have Faith, Don't Despair.

The importance of my purpose -

is it blown out of proportion?

For while such pride should be no curse

it might lead to some distortion

 

of how I see my rôle in this -

what I've a right to claim for me

and whether wanting more's remiss -

but should I accept what I see

 

or am I right to want my dreams?

Nothing's written: no-one's constrained

to mine safe, prescr...

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Paramatical Mathedox

If I have 2 of something,

and then you give me 1 more

have you given me a half

or a third extra?

(You've changed my 2 to a 3,

increasing my lot by

half again - that's 50% of

the original quantity -

but that one extra is only a third -

or 33% - of my new total amount.)

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A Cornucopia Of Haikus

PHOBOPHOBIA

It's fear of the flood

of fear that flows through me which

I fear most, by far.

 

MORE TELLTALE SIGNS

We say we're not apes

and yet it's the human race

which shat where it ate.

 

THE ULTIMATE DRUG

Yes, I'm an addict -

the withdrawals will kill me

if I don't eat food.

 

WIE!*

Nothing good can come

of our obsession with this:

it will ...

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Haiku

7-Up: Cleanliness Is Next To Impossible

Who else, save that one person

in need of relaxation

would stoop to taking a bath?

From the very first instant

said bather isn't cleaner

but more and more wallowing

in their own scum-laden filth.

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The Whole Hog

If you're only prepared to meet the bastards halfway

how can you ever say you've won?

You haven't even drawn.

You've only called halftime,

after which they'll have moved the goalposts

(again!), dug deep pits across the pitch

and fudged the rules of the game.

They'll have planted a spy on your team too.

 

No, if you want to stand any chance of winning

you'll have to pl...

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Leave Or Remain, It's All The Same

How sadly it's come to this:

the apotheosis

of our egos' mad desires.

 

Now all this nightmare requires

of us to finalise

matters is to analyse

 

our crude methodology

and, sans apology

give the Earth one last, good kick -

 

yes, that ought to do the trick -

then drink to its poor health.

We've raped it of all its wealth,

 

we've torn it and tortured...

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climate change

If Poems Were Paintings (A Scabrous Fantasy, Written After Watching J. Koons at Work On BBC4)

This poem was painstakingly transcribed by 23 unpaid

interns labouring under my cool, indifferent 'tutelage'

(and who, after each day's work is finished, in bars and cafés

across the city will pretend to their friends how valued

they're made to feel as students and protegés of mine.)

                                                                                                   E...

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artfantasywriting

A Few Lines Conceived In Poor Mimickry (A Mere Matter Of Minutes After Concluding A Biography Concerning That Conceited, If Colourful Cove, Coleridge)

I, too have watched a myriad words die,

all for want of you, fearless audience -

your special someone with that kindly eye

and ear who could best, sans wilful offence

 

urge me to test myself, by composing

a thousand lines and honing them to one.

Your wisdom, without combative ego's

ingrown need to sound 'clever' (not far gone

 

in self-esteem, I mean) might serve adv...

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friendshipMusewriting

My Mea Culpa To The Future

Tomorrow's cohort have cause to complain:

we've squandered their birthright (this fragile earth,)

burning resources for personal gain

and left them all this mess. For what it's worth

 

though we've claimed no right nor shown contrition

for leaving their world denuded of life,

with nature in such a raped condition,

stripped-mined by greed at the point of a knife.

 

Too...

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A Life (1897-1980)

Keen amateur footballer,

playing centre forward for teams

in two local leagues (between jobs.)

 

Fought in the trenches,

enlisting as a private

and demobbed as a sergeant

at officer-training school.

 

Awarded the Military Medal

during that terrible 'Kaiserschlacht'

for repelling an attack in force.

All by himself.

 

Post-war, turned down an offer

to pla...

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Raison D'Etre

I live for the dream of hell to pay

and better words to arraign each thought;

alas, Dunning-Kruger bars my way

and up my tongue gets tied. Options float -

 

teasingly, playing peek-a-boo-you,

buckling swash through my jaded mind's eye,

first dancing into, then out of view -

leaving me clutching as straws flit by.

 

It's like the end of the Crystal Maze

where bankno...

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SONNET: MY MATE MARK RIP (1956 – 92) 

I wish these rocky days were at an end
and I could go at last to join my friend.
I have no great desire to stay on here
and would much rather simply disappear.

No-one will really mourn me, should I go
to that great drinker’s tavern down below;
much less is there some lover who might grieve,
were I to pop my clogs and take my leave.

I do believe he’s lounging with a beer,
somewhere tha...

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