WordSalad: The Poetry of Luke Prater

Ha! The News of the World
gossip of soulsold hacks
paparazzi moralacks
xenoflags finally furled

BSky bid force-failed
spivspin media mogul
facing humble pie

The Does were had by the Fox
but hunting is back in season
gun down the repulsive reason
for agit-prop missile-locks

☆

Odious Right-Wing media magnate Rupert Murdoch‘s global News Corporation enterprise, which includes Fox News, the disgustingly self-righteous and xenophobic British Sun tabloid and until very recently the equally heinous News of the World, has finally found itself in a quagmire that means more than just the loss of the bid to fully acquire British Sky Broadcasting (BSkyB), and a closure of the News of the World. The British Government was ready to bend to the man and allow him even more media influence in the BSkyB bid, as suddenly out came the mobile phone-hacking scandal – abducted children, 9/11 victims, 7/7 victims mobile voicemail messages had all been hacked for the sake of news headlines. The corruption inherent in News Corp is embedded deep and thick, as senior police officials and others have been forced to resign having taken bribes from the News of the World. The octogenarian Australian admitted to having the “humblest day” of his life after a member of the public landed a cream pie square in his face during a Parliamentary hearing on the 19th of July 2011.

5 people like this post.

Like

Unlike

Madam Karma (blank verse)

God damn it, Madam Karma, you pre-empt
my stint with Destiny. What is the debt?

Freewill is not enough to keep a man;
true Self-Determinism’s tough, I rue
the bedbound wretch with seeping sleepless fettle.

The Universe is in rogue bedlam, a
pre-Ordered pandemonium (stop. Breathe.)
where Karma, Des and Will all ashram-kneel,
chant mantras: cymbals, with harmonium.

Madam Karma (the light version)

God damn you, Madam Karma -
upstaged my date with Destiny.
Yeah, she’s a little charmer,
but basically she lets me be.

Freewill just ain’t enough, y’know,
to keep a man alive, true Self-
Determinism’s tough, y’know;
ill-fettled wretch with weeping wealth.

The Universe is Bedlam Hill,
pre-Ordered pandemonium,
where Madam Karma, Des and Will
chant mantras with harmonium.

5 people like this post.

Like

Unlike

Olfactory affront in the old factory,
saw cockroaches and rats in the refectory;
blue-collar ghosts eat jam and toast with Tetley’s tea
and wail about their Class.

Been forty years since they (who are they?) shut us down,
as births and deaths have come and gone, like half-a-crown.
The sainted Union let us fall without a sound
and left us on our arse.

Red never rose the way we wished, like Che, it would,
Red never showed its blistered face for any good,
Red only took, purloined a man of livelihood;
George Orwell had it clear.

Unlock these iron doors, let daylight purge this tomb,
unbar the windows, shift the hulks, machine and loom.
Sweep out the dust that beds down thick, and use this room -
our time has ended here.

4 people like this post.

Like

Unlike

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…

8 people like this post.

Like

Unlike

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.

5 people like this post.

Like

Unlike

Ding Dong (Merrily)

We wring our hands
while they ring their tills
and the kids ring their friends
to compare presents.

I’ve got swollen glands
and a string of red bills
haunted by the Ghost
of Christmas Presents.

Week Fifty-Two

Not feeling all that festive, guys
in fact, I’m pretty blue
hear my plea for sanity:
abolish Week Fifty-Two

A giant lit-up plastic Santa
atop their roof askew
disgusting ostentation, people
bad taste, pudding-breath, you

I have a friend who calls it ‘Glutmas’
think that’s funny, don’t you?
Kids want bigger, better, more
despite the debt accrued

The Season of Weakwill, oh boy
stinks like last week’s stew
bin the hearth, forget the table
abolish Week Fifty-Two

“…The Disneyfication of Christianity”
said Cupitt; Clergyman, too
a Gentleman and a Scholar, Sir
yet shares the opinion of few

“Do they know it’s Christmas time?”
– Band-Aid, on Geldof’s cue
Hope not. What if ‘They’ ain’t Christian?
(Though applaud your work, I do)

“This mindless Festive glut”, she wrote:
a poem damn driven to do
mindful moderation, please, or
abolish Week Fifty-Two

Not a fan of that nasty Grinch
with skin a ghastly hue;
wanna to call me Ebenezer?
You’ve missed my point of view:

‘Tis the Season to be warm and cosy
through darkest days, it’s true.
So see some friends, drink some wine;
forget the whole kit n’ kaboo’

Hear my plea for sanity:
abolish Week Fifty-Two.

Geldof released a second version of Do They Know it’s Christmas? in 2004, twenty years after the original, again with a bunch of stars from the music industry (only one or two from the original line-up). The Darfur crisis was the main focus of this charitable act. Geldof, you deserve the Knighthood. But what the hell is that cover picture supposed to tell us? The line “Do they know it’s Christmas time” bothers me a little, as if they would only be happy as Christmas-celebrating, er, Christians, stuffing themselves with turkey. What if they’re Muslim? Or from a Polytheistic African religion/cult? I can’t find out who did the artwork for the cover of the CD, but it’s offensive in many ways – an African child, cadaverous with starvation, standing in snow, and looking on (and excluded from) a scene of typical Northern European/American Christmas (how cute that the big-eyed reindeer are looking kindly in the child’s direction though… aww). A cosy house with opulent inhabitants gorging themselves, no doubt, on rich food and drink and singing Christian Carols. Why depict a child out of natural habitat (and in one where he/she would most certainly die very quickly of hypothermia, being naked), out of cultural context, and quite possibly religious/spiritual context also? It doesn’t bring home the point, it misses by a mile, and is just plain offensive. On top of that, it’s the old make-me-feel-guilty-because-I-happen-to-be-born-a-Westerner charity trip. F**k off. I’d like to kick the cover artist in the face. So would the kid, probably, if he/she had the strength (and hasn’t died of hypothermia or choking on their own vomit by now).

Merry Christmas, everyone! Splendid. Me, I’ll honour the Solstice.

3 people like this post.

Like

Unlike

Many flaws
got no ceiling
many doors
doorknobs missing

Never yours
never feeling
many whores
careless kissing

Many chores
life in Ealing
many bores
listless pissing

Watching Jaws
reel-to-reeling
many mores
shit-flick dissing

Tiger claws
tea, Darjeeling
many Coors
empty drinking

Slew of straws
for the dealing
many draws
short ones picking

On all fours
make-a-mealing
many scores
bed-knobs dicking

★

Many floors
got my healing
many doors
doorknobs clicking

1 person likes this post.

Like

Unlike

Coulda been this
turned out that;
shoulda been his
‘sall old hat

Coulda been fizz
turned out flat;
was a whizz
took exeat

Knocked at the door
a-rat-a-tat-tat!
No-one. Saw
just some old bat

Dance the floor!
He never sat.
Nobody’s whore
no ‘Welcome’ mat

Stuck to the floor
where they spat;
take no more -
tell them that

Went for gloss
he got matte;
a stone with moss
stays where it’s at

Grandpa’s gloves
but lost his hat;
no true loves
just Jane and Kat

He was lean
he got fat;
he was Green
still tries that

Sang true B
went B-flat;
circles of three
ain’t where it’s at

Coulda been this
turned out that;
shoulda been his
‘sall old hat.

2 people like this post.

Like

Unlike

Red Setter, boy, go out and get ‘er
smell her out, you haven’t met ‘er
that what that nose is for,
Red Setter?

You didn’t phone or write a letter
e-mail, text, or even better
see her face again,
Red Setter

Quite the charming panties-wetter
take all you want, owe no debt, ya
let ‘er suck and more,
Red Setter

Ever on the case, a-go-go getter
won’t be told, be tamed, no fetter
how many do you claim,
Red Setter?

Red, colour of dawgs who know better
but don’t; won’t have a tête-à-têter
one night enough, enough for
Red Setter

Dine her on wine, black olives and feta
she’ll come back to the kennel if you let ‘er
how many do you feign,
Red Setter?

Red Setter, boy, go out and get ‘er
smell her flesh, you haven’t et ‘er
that what those teeth are for,
Red Setter?

2 people like this post.

Like

Unlike