WordSalad: The Poetry of Luke Prater

And God created Jobs

(The Lord giveth,
the Lord taketh away).

Windows broken, adamant Steve
threw the Apple.

And He saw that it was good.
Really fucking good.

(RIP S.J. Feb 24, 1955 – Oct 5, 2011)

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Soya suckers
tofu tuckers
take yer curds
out my whey

yogurt truckers
fasmati buckers
organic turds
soil my clay

Goa-packers
free-love jackers
floorfeet lackers
scratch my board

compost sackers
tantric frackers
Osho yakkers
yank my cord

need a damn re-tox retreat
crack the keg n’ pass the meat

Namaste.

✩

(I jest, of course. I love you all. Well, most of you :)

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Brass monkeys - baboons with baked potatoes

✩
What the hell are brass monkeys?

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Too many cooks
mill the kitchen
mansize bitchin’

in whites and
fatuous throwaway hats

spoil the broth
just wanna watch

Gastronomic voyeur
lacking hygiene (and lawyer)

cracking knuckles
need the bread
steal a loaf

steal away
(lady, table three:
please leave – with me)

Dingy eatery
whinging maître d’, and

lacklustre lacquer tables
gazing greasy plateglass in
bootless, flagstone-brasserie yen

stoic ennui

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Fell forward at four (the small four),
face sunk into keyboard;
backlit qwerty blinked me waking.

Slung, pixel-hung ill-uttered characters
in orderly, ugly clutterprocession were
branded into the beast with my forehead.

Wondered if I did it enough
I’d have the script for Hamlet;
already had a good start on
an episode of East Enders.

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Bangkok Redlight District

If inauspicious that Roma
had love back to front,
what tragic prophecy

in naming Bangkok.
Phuket a beach for
boorish tourists

paying pittance in tuk-tuks
take-take-taking on
lascivious escapade.

☆

Onomast: a person who studies the history and origin of proper names

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Metrosexual sarong instead?
Doubt that marinates in the easy
Essex-fettled brain of Beckham.

Sing a heterosexual song in bed -
clear, strong, fine timbre. Beckon;

get limber as I sing, but

stop. as. you.

d
r
o
p

white camisole top.

<< rewind <<

What difference between effeminate guys
and females I don’t find appealing? None.

Friendship won, likely, laughing
into our fer-god’s-sake glasses
at the sexual sitcom of it all.

Fuck it.

David Beckham in that infamous sarong

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Knickers in bunch,
panties in a knot

All I did was stare at you
for as long as you wanted

the fixed intent
whatever you wished it
clicked on your favourite

picture of mine
I wasn’t even online

You’re *blushing furiously*
thanks a bunch, blaming me
for dampened what-knots

(don’t even think about
an emoticon wink ;-)

I accept no responsibility for
your overspill of cybersexuality

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Ate a hot French tart once;
cheap but tasted good.
Had the cherry off a Danish
I was in the mood.

Kicked back with a sweet short black*
an experience lush and strong.
Filled Yankee meaty buns with sauce
carefully removed the thong.

Supped on Indian fruity lassi
slipped in a sly banana;
Summer sauerkraut tasted sweet
no sour Kraut there: a charmer.

Aussie Barbie, quite the shrimp
sounded weird, but tasty;
settle for the full English spread?
Still long for that Danish pastry…

My Kiwi fruity was quite the cutie
and juicy too, it seemed;
Island coconuts, no ifs or buts
boy, those nuts got creamed

She gobbled my deep-fried Mars Bar,
that was me wee Scots lass.
Irish eyes smiling, beguiling
gave head on me Guinness glass

My sun-kissed Saffa went Black Label
I suffered the sun to kiss her;
Zulu Princess served me dishes
admitted that I would miss her

Lick my lips at fish n’ chips
one helluva battered fish;
went berserkish for a little Turkish
her kebab was just delish

Got lucky in Kentucky
devoured her Derby pie.
Sang a paean to my Caribbean
her plantain to satisfy

Chili dips and Tequila lips
my satin Latin lover;
hors d’oeuvre served on mint cruise ships
cabin shaggin’ fever

Welsh rarebit, she seems to do it
melts like cheeses oozin’.
One thing I know for sure, though:
never suck on long, fat Cuban.

☆

*’Short black’ is Australasian for single espresso coffee. I shit ye not.

This is meant entirely humorously and if you’re offended you may be reading it upside-down :) Or you have the option of coming and beating this Brit boy to death with your crockery :) Please feel free to add a stanza…

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Sex is overrated
I won’t be masturbated
hormones have been freighted
of late I’m swimming free

My bum look big in this?
Please gimme little kiss?
Hey, don’t chase me, Miss
I’m chaste, and happily

A cup of tea and chat
is more my style of hat
especially given that
I’m virgin on the free

Not Wilde with the boys
or Best with laddish ploys
or double-jointed joys -
re-untouched territory. Whew.

☆

George Best was a hugely talented Northern Irish football player and a notorious womaniser. They couldn’t get enough of him. Sadly, he was alcoholic, too… that’s what got him in the end. Achilles heels… Oscar Wilde doesn’t need an explanation.

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