I need to learn to cook I need to learn to cook So I think I’ll buy An air fryer Slow clooker And microwave I don’t like the oven anymore Or the hob or the kettle It feels outdated Like museum displays at the yorvik centre, I want to boil my water in the air fryer I want to slow cook my cereal I want to microwave my bacon Because I’m the modern man I saw it all on instagram Saved all the vids That’s all I need To be a ninja in the kitchen Soon I’ll be a modern chef In fact why don’t they make the air fryer much bigger Then I can air fry a whole suckling pig Legs akimbo Hung drawn and quartered They should Make the slow cooker deeper and wider so I can sit in it, slowly edging towards boiling point Like a freshly caught lobster, Claws clacking with delight I wish they would lengthen the microwave so I can give radiation poisoning to the mice underneath my sofa They are such pests And I could massacre them whilst also heating my house Because I think that’s how microwaves work Either way I’m sure the kitchen tech will help And Maybe soon I’ll learn to cook.
Rusty Albion Rusty Dunya The body is a mortal coil But the spirit is eternal, The message of the lord spread But we humans interpret infernal, Dante’s legions Daliance with nuclear thermal, Fact of the matter is Disparity hierarchy wealth run this imperial residence Never leave any room for group clarity just much hesitance, He looked surprised when sheila said good morning, Easy to forget compassion with all that forewarning, They called it umbongo, Dont ever want to talk on Filasteen Sudan and Congo, Geriatric gammon leading anti human times, Heralding misery drone strike making lies with lemons no lime, Or reason He asked for ancestor’s relic But it was given to safekeeping Steven, People frowned said it was tricky for particular reasons, Data mindsets and dopamine fiends No fjords or illysiean fields, Subterranean sonnets as TFL runs dry Pay them their money! ‘But I have to get to moorgate by eight hunny’, He called it a dreary isle When poor fella talked you’d run a mile, Manic street preachers come and go To where? I don’t really know, Where theres little sun but ample malice Sufi and Selassi all get scarred for chalice, Don’t get me wrong Much love there is, Community too We are the guardians of the truth! Yet the lines of greed aplenty too So they selective when they say come through, Earth a run red right about now, epidemics ignorance consumption & rage, Not always against the machine For memory of it fades, Idly we scroll for more to unfold, real heroes: Bisan, Wael and Motaz too, So far apart we are from kin like you, Scrolling seeing dead youth then next scroll slide and right on que, Superstar DJs in the booth, Keep scrolling lest you lose your moral fibre, Eat your branflakes and contemplate whats happened to Harry Maguire, what an awful chasm between reality and delight, an ode to a nightingale, but its well past midnight, Globally it seems us lot are persona non grata Greta got the message, what about her father? They sorry for the loss Don’t want the intifada, Londinium is a madness and hella dreary too, Theres only so much that bunting and vindaloo can do, Global Fascist violence, parliament liminal Shirt cuff suits, why ya get so cynical? Here Grenfell still looms large Yet in Westminster they continue to harass the bar staff, Hard to get wowed by folk all too common, law dun change now talk gone foreign, Metropoli locomotive like Masekela said, They only bring out Hugh when Hugh is dead, 3D said: ‘I love my neighbour i don’t wait for the Olympics’, Velodrome wont save us, its one of many gimmicks, They dont tell you nelson’s statue in Dublin was bombed by the IRA, The big smoke is still squelching and gnawing away, Albion’s pleasant lands have gone into decay, Yet mighty forces have entered the fray, We see it on Saturdays when we protest and parlé, Seems little hope at times, others we dazzle and bring sun to the grey.
TIGER BALM TOBY - Cal Brockel Toby emptied two metric tonnes of tiger balm into the outdoor swimming pool And took a deep gluttonous breath. “I’ve just been so tense,” he said, eyes stinging. “Every part of my body feels like one big knot. I’ve tried everything”. On went the snorkel. I went nearer to him. Over by the diving board, careful not to step on any of the thousands of tiny glass jars he’d been methodically decanting. A beetle skittered across the surface. Toby climbed in. He was cautious at first: just a little toe. Then he kicked off the side with the other foot, Scrunched his eyes tight, and flopped into the ointment With no splash. I sat and dangled my feet off. “I just need total complete relaxation. The whole World’s just a lot right now”. He said through the snorkel hole.
SMALL WORLD BIG WORLD - Ned Dukes My world feels small today Smaller than yesterday Smaller than the day before I’m shrinking as the world around me grows I was a mouse yesterday Now a cockroach Tomorrow an ant And who knows how much smaller after that I wasn’t always this small It wasn’t long ago I was an elephant roaming through a cul de sacs of ant hill bungalows Bursting at the seams of the world Around me Now I’ve shrunk again I need someone to pump me up Gas me up Reinflate me so I can stand up tall
OCTOBER TO MARCH - Ned Dukes A depressing dreary isle Where pervading grey stifles smiles 6 months of each year Spent yearning for the next cycle to come nearer, Slight peaks of sustaining sun Venture out, not long enough for some Darkness creeps ever quicker Pavement stones slippier and slippier And bare trees bare down As their discharge coagulates on the ground We trudge Through mud As we are pelted, not with water, but by slurry and sludge Brief moments of respite Public houses with dimmed lights As we huddle together Yearning for the night to come As we wait for they grey to be gone To be replaced by night Which offers us a moments peace When this dreary isle comes alive And frowns turn upside down And the dimmed lights of the public houses Become beacons to the massses Where we can all drown our sorrows Forget about a grey tomorrow And bask in our collective grump Escape for a moment In a pint of mulch And as the cold bites Each pint and the company which accompanies them Warms your soul Just for moment And then, We trudge back In our waterproof sacks Through sludge slurry and mulch To our damp brick hovels Where we can’t even turn in the fucking heating.