Weekend Raver

Stalked by our own state of mind,
in self defence
we massacred midnight.
Raving on the disused factory floor
tribal drums, dark beat blood throb;
so animalistic.

We were so godless,
sunshine obsessed
to blister the moon
with gregarious neon
from the screaming streets
to the needle and the spoon.

Our blurred auras
worshipped the next five minutes
with chemical devotions
as 220 beats bang into
unobtainable moments.

We’ve been riding shooting stars
all night long,
on galaxy ram-raids
stealing celestial lights,
robbing the night’s sky
of the right to shine
we’re speeding
into our own darkness.



©2006 P.A.Levy
First published by ‘lines written w/a razor’ 2009 Closed.



About that photo in your wallet                    
of yer so called girlfriend.  It’s easy to see
you made that up in Photoshop
from a selection of boobs, arses,
legs, and blonde looks
from a one stop
body shop porn site.  She’s a sight!
If you saw her coming in real life
you’d run a mile. 

I had no idea
that Dr Frankenstein had made
a bride, who then had Quasimodo’s
love child.   Then again your taste
in women always was a little strange.

Do you remember
that immensely fat fat bird?  I’m sure
you do, you raved that getting laid
was cluck-tastic what with her making
all them chicken noises, and pounds
and pounds of tit, so much you didn’t
know what to do with it, but I bet
in the morning your face
was a right flash bang photograph.
Then there was the bald-headed bird
who took off her wig
then took out her teeth:
you had her Mondays, Wednesdays, and
Sunday lunchtimes, said there was something
about the blow jobs you couldn’t resist.

There was also girl with no legs,
you cruelly joked
that after you’d done the business
she move around the bedroom
like a snail.
And, sad to say, let’s not forget
the poor girl with elephantiasis,
doggie style with yer eyes closed
solved a multitude of uncomfortable
prospects.  Oh yeah,
there was also the incredibly ugly
fifty five year old tranny
with hairy arms and stubble chin;
you have no shame, you even had him!
But, and this is what I don’t understand,
it’s always you that gets the elbow
the old heave-ho.
I don’t think you’re quite as good,
in-out speaking,
as you like to make out.
Let’s face it, your nothing to shout about,
so when it comes
to cut and paste Photoshop creations
yer all mouth, trousers and front
and let’s be honest
a nasty little cunt.



©2007  P.A.Levy
First published by Censored Poets 2010



work drives me mental
it’s been madness all day
i can’t wait to relax
recklessly throw my clothes
all over the floor
have a nice hot soak
with the new body shop
petal scented bubble bath
cornflowers essential oil of daises
enfused with long purples
and i’ll just lie back
listen to some trance tunes
drift off
into a little world
of my own making



© 2009 iDrew
First published by Visceral Uterus 2012



it was the day the hello kitty
porno movie was released
on dvd
you had sent me a text saying
we’re having fish and milk
for our tea

by the time i got home
you’d redecorated the flat
everything pink with fur and fluff
then served our food in
bowls with no knife or fork
but it was ok to use our paws
and tongues
you said
is very important

we then nestled down in front
of the telly and
as they say
the rest is history as
the night the cuddles the sex was

oh honey
you’ve never been so right
licking is so very important



© 2012 iDrew
First published by Leaves of Ink – Daily Love 2013



as laura treadle turns the wheel her lithe
fingers work the wet clay
moulding the rounded curves
of donna bright eyed giggling
rolling around on laura’s bed casually chatting
about her clitoris and nipples
through her orchid
flower mouth
laura has to concentrate on moisture
and so she waits

whilst in the kiln
rose petals she had painted with scented
brush licks passionately burn
and green honeysuckle leaves
coil to the lip but do not talk
or whisper
reclining in donna’s porcelain arms
that circumnavigate
her heart
longing for that first kiss

but laura’s become an artisan of
unrequited pottery and misfired
when donna threw laura’s dreams
on to the floor
an instant jigsaw
of irregular earthenware pieces
the clay once from the soil
won’t decompose like compost
she knows their only purpose now
in flower pots for drainage

if only
the glaze hadn’t misfired
if only
her gaze hadn’t been misread
if only …
will-o’-the-wisp domestic bliss
fruit bowls size 34b



©2009 Charlotte De’Ath
First published by Slink Chunk 2014