Part of my throat just fell out.
A bit from the back, I have no doubt.
Been feeling something bad down there.
When it fell out, it made me swear.

Put it quickly down the loo.
What the hell else can I do?
A ****** great big lump of me.
Nearly choked, spat my tea"

A cough of blood, a messy splat.
Yes pointy finger, I'm a Welsh ****!
Now just a little blood and stuff,
" Ok body, I've had enough."

I've cut and broke and bled so much,
What next, a piece falls of my crutch?
Reckon singing tore it out.
That last rendition made me shout!

But I will admit that I do fret,
My throat shouldn't go down the toilet.

Why did you wait to tell me                    that you knew all along
until you were dying                                  and did nothing
time to cleanse your conscience?        you didn't even clean me
you should have washed me                   just cold dry emptiness
I always  wondered                                     why were you quiet?
and never dared to ask                             Why did you let me hide
were you somewhere crying for me    alone under the stairs
or lying to yourself and  denying          on the day my childhood ended

Motorcycles are fickle things
fleeting as fairies with whizzing wings
don't always work when you want them to
sometimes faultless sometimes poo
mended mine again today
set fire to it as well but hey,
it goes again and kinda smiles
waiting for the happy miles
we do together in the sun
this winters frost has been no fun
My men's bits froze to popcorn size
don't ride in the snow, so say the wise
so wee and slow it won't go quick
been so cold it's made me sick
but got no licence for my car
and my bike though slow gets me quite far
got the car test coming soon
easier to touch the moon
worry so if I will pass
maybe I should offer up my ***?
do the examiner ****** favours
or pray to the lord my only saviour
Hmmm my **** is not so cute,
and prayer is such a selfish route
I'll settle for a mournful wail
when the examiner tells me "Jeremy.. FAIL!"

The year turns slowly, winter grinds on.
Old leaves rotting down,
not yet nourishing new growth.
But the trees know.
Spring will come, bringing less for some.
Yearn for the light, willing it to shine on them.
Pour goodness and grace, for all, not some.
Spring comes, let winter be done.
Let them be the happy ones.

Spoke to a friend the other day,
a wonderful, talented songwriter
who warms hearts and is so loved.
"If you can write heart felt poetry,
Jeremy, then any woman will wilt,
and melt into your arms."
Sooooo........
What about my poems on poo?
Up inside my ***, that too?
The drivel I write when I'm depressed?
Or feel sorry ones written 'cos I'm repressed?
Got some weird ***** in my head
much of it best left unsaid
One day if I find myself a girl
who sends my heart into a twirl
honestly all that I would plead
is she hasn't the ability to read

He woke in the vw.
Things were getting out of hand
there was nothing but silence from the Landlord
no comments on his work
maybe he was getting to obscure for his own good
might start to think he was nothing but a *** criminal
That's not right, his ethics preclude that.
Love no *** no just killing and causing ******* pain.
That put a smile back on his face.
Over to his right dogs were barking
mad like they were afraid.
He followed the noise, down into the concrete flood channel.
Dogs were ok Judy wrote that poem about their honesty
They don't ***** you over
Or let you down.
He found the dogs. Three barking at something red.
something gutted like a fish.
Spread out.
He bent over, started to move bits, then frowned.
Louisa..
Slowly turning around  he scanned the area.
Then left to check
Cat on the porch a worried woman in the window
Glad for the cat.
Someone was playing a game
He liked games.
Went to an internet cafe
logged on
saw there was a Poem from a new poet
Serial Roadkill
read it got it
time to get into character
We'll see how good you are boy
I'm no old lady
He cast a circle around the motel bed that night
had to hit the kid ******* in the bathroom real hard till she shut up
distracting him
He said the words slow. under his breath

If I find a way back to you through the dark and dawn I'll take it
a thousand circles in blood for the boy who doesn't live anymore

maybe this is what is meant to be, one final test..

He was parked up a hundred yards from her house
imagining Louisa
not too picky, judging from the run-down old houses
several were boarded up.
He was becoming quite absorbed with one of those.
A bad place. Soon to be notorious, a good house for a woman to be afraid in......
He had dug through all the Metal tapes in the vw.
Found Pride and Glory. Played Harvester of Pain over.
Till he was ready.
I'll show her hearts and love, god he was mad.
Hope Daisy gets to watch, wow that excited him.
The light came on early.
He waited until dusk, then walked around the back of her house.
Then in.
****.
****, she had a cat.
Old as well, would it starve?
Then he saw her in the chair.
Jesus! Older than the cat.
And smiling at him.
He drove away an hour later.
Felt like hell inside. Forgetful old ***** thought he was her home help.
So he made her a coffee, fed the cat.
Sanctimonious cow gave him money.
Her husbands photograph was on the wall faded brown like she was.
Died in the war, drowned practising for D-Day.
So he spared her, for that and for the sake of the cat.
He stole an old bottle of whisky on his way out.
No sobriety test on the road to hell.
Six hours later he kicked a teenage ******* to death.
Dressed like that, you can't have a mother or a mirror.
Left the old ladies money on her corpse,this one's for Her.

"I am the Walrus..." the lyric passed through his head
stood in the pounding sun of Death valley.
He poured the dregs of his mineral water onto the hot dirt.
steam rose fast, as if a conflagration
was ablaze deep in the parched ground.
Not as beautiful a place as the great ergs of the sahara
that he saw on discovery channel
He looked back at the shimmering mirage that was his rental cadillac
not that he'd be taking it back,
not with what was spread all over the trunk....
Daisy had seemed a nice kid, talked a bit too much maybe,
Not saying much now. That thought made him smile.
How her wide her eyes were when she saw the 1911.
A good year for guns, 1911, he thought.
And the Great War just around the corner.
He preferred the phrase the Great War to World War One.
He felt it was more respectful to those who had died.
Daisy hadn't been respectful enough.
So he killed her for the dead heroes sake
Mineral water made him think.
People came to the Valley to work back in the day,
chemicals, minerals, salt maybe..... he wasn't too sure what.
Sure as hell no water.
Before them, travellers, settlers passed through.
Some died, they had no respect, like Daisy.
They thought their teams of oxen could pull up the grade
get them out of the valley, but many couldn't do it.
Died and dried, before the oxen could evolve into something bigger.
Like daisy died before she evolved a respectful brain.
He read about evolution in the Geographic, sort of felt
he was pretty well evolved. Maybe some kind of chosen one.
Thinking of the poor oxen dying made him mad as hell.
He began a slow walk back to the Caddy, there were some numbers and addresses in Daisy's purse.
He smiled to himself, this was going to be a good year,
it was going to be His year...

Early morning sun was pouring in through their window
the warmth spreading over the beds
keeping the boys drowsy
downstairs the telephong rang
no-one answered it
he crawled out from under the heavy quilted bedspread
his brother had a bedspread with stars all over
celestial-something
too long a word for a five year old to bother with
he went to the phone
picked it up
listened  
did what it the voice had told him
he went to the kitchen
got the bbq fluid and matches
poured it on his brothers bed
went down stairs
watched The Hair Bear Bunch while his brother burned

When he was a boy he found a baby opposum
lying on the ground by a dug out nest in the sunshine
he took it home full of excitement to his mother
she told him to throw it in the garbage
he stole upstairs with it
wrapped it in a small piece of lace
and put it in a little willow basket
a risky thing crossing his mother
the opposum had died by the morning
when his mother saw that he had crossed her
she tied the dead opposum around his neck
and smashed his toy sailboat
He was thinking of this as he drove away in the cadillac
with Daisy in the trunk

Daisy, Daisy give me your answer do........
boy! That Cadillac was one hell of a piece of engineering.
Burned a long time, like it enjoyed the pain of the flames.
He smiled at the thought.
Handmade by union men the way it should always be.
Not those ******* up ***** like Jimmy Hoffa either.
That *******, probably a ****** like hoover.
The image of him in a basque stuck.
Made him angry, but he soon reined it in.
Lecter was never angry. Not in the books.
He prefered the books, no change-the -ending for the mass appeal.
******* movies.
He was cautious now, the fake i.d. for the rental would fool most.
He was pushing things, her blood in the trunk even burnt black worried him. Next time will be better.
In Daisy's book was a circled name with hearts drawn around it.
Louisa. Her address as well. Nice and easy. 200 miles to go.
Make like Rutger in The Hitcher, move west....
The VW Rabbit was a ****** car after the Caddy.
The two kid's didn't want to give it up easy, but they did in the end.
They looked so silly, tied back-to-back in the rear seat, legs broke to squeeze them in.
Made him smile all through the night.
No blood this time, not yet anyway. Playing Slipknot to **** him off, little *****.
Well write a song for these two, clown boy.
He had looked on their lap-top at the poetry site.
Saw the latest post from the pub landlord. He was a little confused, this poem didn't seem to be telling him his next move.
He dragged them out into a ditch before dawn, stood on their necks to **** them, like the coyote trappers did, cruel *******.
No blood, just **** all over each other as they died.
Maybe he'd get a reward poem for doing it, in the meantime finding Louisa would keep him occupied.
The vw had a cheap sat nav, hope she's home.....

I woke up this morning, and no I am not singing a blues song....
There is something big and white in a small room
I had a torrid few minutes trying to recall...
re-fri-ger-a-tor
a step forward
ouch! My kneecap hurts, not fun.
I learnt the refrigerator although white
is not as soft as a pillow or a cloud
I managed to make the room safe
by pushing the refrigerator
out of the window.
Whoops.....sorreee!
there is something under it outside, round and red
a volley ball is round and red
but this round thing is gurgling
and very red indeed
except for the things like lips that are going bluey-grey
Wow the world is fun with severe memory loss
and a laissez-faire attitude to exploring things.
Bubby, my neighbor gave me a present
it is heavy, has a handle and a little lever on the side
safe......fire.....safe....fire......
It fits in my mouth, I wonder if ..
BANG!!....

Want to write a poem sweet,
about monsters or dragons with big feet.
But got sad things inside my head.
So want to write happiness instead.
So I'll go to bed and dream of things.
Fairies and scaries and beating wings.
Then all the sad stuff will fly away,
tomorrow, I hope, my mind will play.

Yesterday the sun shone
I saw shadows on my wall
They opened the blinds for a little while
and took away my shawl
The window was opened just a crack
to let some fresh air in
but the smokers gather around the back
so fresh air cannot win
I dream of gardens warm and sweet
of glowing summer sky
but yesterday the sun shone
and still it passed me by

Deep in the woods, cold sun on His face.
Trying to find a hiding place where He is safe.
From Him. Frisk myself.
No knife, no pills, no bleach or drugs,
just cold to crawl into.
Like a frozen barren womb that has,
as the last act of its painful life
barred my return to the warm.
That warmth is so close, an hours walk,
a quicker ride, ***** it, hide!
They're asking Him in but stay outside.
They will get through,
no circle keeps the good ones out.
He thinks he hears singing,"we're going to get you,
make you warm, make you smile,
for a while.."
He will just lie here and listen for the deer,
just for a little while more.
Just long enough to be so ill,
maybe then He can hide again.

A young girl was singing of mountains and mist
as if granite and moorlands were all that exists
she sang of the heather and sun on the lochs
of tinkling burns born up high in the rocks
she sang how the water runs down to the sea
and I stood and believed she was singing for me