Category Archives: shankanalia

Shankinalience – the Overwhelming Annoyance of Angry Verse

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More weeks of being driven insane by a society dead set on celebrating and promoting mediocrity, if not outright stupidity. And relax… I think it’s fair to say that most of these are work-related. But then I guess that’s where most of us encounter maximum idiocy; I know I do, because otherwise I avoid mankind entirely. Well, I hope you enjoy them. If you do, and feel you need to taste someone else’s poison more frequently then you can follow @shankanalia on Twitter too.

Listen to Vitriol

Oh, almost forgot – I’ve recorded one bilious spurting of poems and you can listen to it here: Shankanolalia The Sensation of Being Verse Shanked, if you prefer to read them, they’re here.

Download: song_12978901

Or get to all my recorded stories at: Reverbnation.com\CaptainPigheart

Shankinalience

Hope Lies Below
Backed into a corner
By your pride
Free yourself
Know yourself
Realism is stoicism
Find a door
This vertex has no edge
Pry it open
Escape
Fall

Portentuous Bastard
You have an aura of doom,
Ghastly penumbral darkness.
A taint of failure infecting the future;
Shadowy promise of defeat
Consuming hope and joy.

It Wouldn’t Take Much
**SYSTEM FAILURE**
Stem your mindless flow
Stab the stem of your brain
A cyst in the
Skull cavity
The size of my fist
Would silence you
Ailing.

Hemispheric Opposition
Colluding with yourself
Colliding in your mind
Left brain doesn’t know
Right brain makes it up
The sum of your parts is the sum of your stupidity.

You Amaze Me
Baffling incompetence.
How do you get here every day?
Overwhelming stupidity
Permits you incredible luck.
Undeserving
Fortune strikes for fools.

Murder by Dulux
Bone white,
Corpse grey.
How I long for more words
For the splashing red blood,
Seeping green,
Gash purple:
Your puddled rainbow on my blade.

Verbal Vitriol
Your words are poison
Burning reason’s flesh.
Your slow weeping death
A soothing balm
Caress rationality with your soft dead fingers.
Shush.

Victory March
Shame.
Shame and failure.
That’s the name of the game,
Or name and tagline of the game.
Describes the procession of stupid
Blundering hopelessly.

Shankostasy – rejection in Piqued Poetry

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Well after a week off work I’m calm and relaxed. How I long to return to that nest of idiocy which pays the bills. My main grievance? Apart from the staggering inability to plan… the enviable ability to trust the words of outsiders talented only in speaking to beguile the credulous.

No – it’s not a cult having a disproportionate effect on managment (actually there is an amusing and mildly shocking side story about religious groups but it can’t be explored here), rather it’s the work of those happy souls the consultants. They lie, dissimulate, speak hollow and nonsensical prose – all of which is magically converted into gospel truth (yeah I know, let’s not get into that irony) by the brain of a maniac. Sigh. At least they’re not being paid tens of thousands to tell us what we already know or don’t need to know. Oh.

So… some of these mini poems were written during a period of such stress. Enjoy!

If you fancy you can follow @shankanalia on Twitter too, or just wait for the ‘collected works’ to turn up here.

Run The Flagpole Up You
Already your buzzwords
Overwhelm my will,
Meaning diffuse and vacuously aspirational.
Must kill;
Must find the fount of bullshit in your skull.

Pity the Fool
Idiot rain
Sweet tears of dismay
I pluck the sad dumb dew drop from your cheek
And laugh
Only you could be so stupid
And expect my sympathy.

Your Opinion Matters
Gash in your face,
Words fall out
In a random order.
Gobshite arseface,
Excremental monologue,
No one cares
About your funnel of rectal jabbery.

Some People Are Hard To Talk To
Do you understand the words I use?
Do they pierce your mind with meaning?
Does the brain sludge
In your thickened skull
Have a purpose?
Mud mind.

Fountain of Despair
Fountain of despair
Gloomy spray
Hiding truth from view.
Geysers of lies
Drowning the facts.
Your puddles of misbelief
Condemn us all:
Wet feet.

Dinotwat
Mesozoic moron,
Cretaceous cretin.
Skull surprisingly filled to bursting
With your tiny lizard brain.
Jurassic jerk
Soon to face extinction

Time’s Arrow
Your head’s on backwards
Or your brain’s in reverse:
If only we’d known,
If only you’d thought
Before speaking
Yesterday would have worked.

Shankatron – the Angry Poetry Robot

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Well today’s been a bastard. The continuous geometric redesign, the geriatric mastication of ova, the sheer gullibility and ignorance… Ach. Much stupidity on a grand yet disappointing scale. Accidentally taking the cold & flu capsules that have caffeine in them on top of sleeping tablets produced a night of astonishing fucktuckery which in no way prepared me for a day in the office. Rage ensued. My highlight was declaring that I wished to clothe the building in napalm, oh and singing. Soon I shall pass out.

This one was slightly too long to fit in a tweet:

Julie Christie Blues
Lions and kittens and fucktards with wings,
Your giblets all ripped out and dangling on strings.
These are a few of my favourite things.
Then I remember you’re dead in a ditch
You ancient and evil fiendish old bitch.
And then I don’t feel so bad.

If you fancy you can follow @shankanalia on Twitter too, or just wait for the ‘collected works’ to turn up here.

Cut Around The Clock
1 o’clock, 2 o’clock, 3 o’clock SLASH,
4 o’clock, 5 o’clock, 6 o’clock SHANK,
7 o’clock, 8 o’clock, 9 o’clock STAB,
10 o’clock, 11 o’clock, 12pm SLICE.
You’re gonna bleed around the clock, and die.

Plasticity
Your face is
The shape of
The things that
I hate
Your face
Shapes my hand
In a sympathetic
Fist
Your face:
The last thing your
Children will ever see.

Customer Service
I’d forgotten,
Forgive me
How needy you are.
My apologies.
Your need exceeds your wit.
Your need exceeds
My desire to assist.
I want to forget you.

Fishing
Eviscerate,
Defenestrate.
These are great
For irritating playmates.
If they’re testy,
Use castrate;
You may need bait.

Clipboard Dreams
Death lust upon me
Once more your steely embrace.
Red mist,
Spattered moron on the floor.
Gut and paste,
Taste your pain,
Feel your wounds.
WIN.

Crowd Control
Hateful squealing mass
Gawking
Drooling
Illiterate gibbering
Point
Stare
Stop in the street
Solipsistic twats
I’ll mow you down
Impinge on you.

Girth
Oh lady,
Oh fat lady
Are you smuggling a whale in your arse?
Were you proportionate within
Your ovaries would be hockey balls.
Oh lady,
Fat lady.

Shankistry – the poetry of vomiting anger

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Ah such fun, spewing bile into the endless depths of the internet. It’s good for the soul, probably. Sure, some people think you should hold it all in, tight to the inside of your ribcage until you feel like screaming. Then you find that you are screaming, holding a knife or a gun to the head of someone whose innocence is questionable. Far, far better to unleash it through face or fingers as immediately as possible.

There’s a special joy in being angry and bending it into vicious words. Such fun. Even better when people you know get paranoid and wonder if the poems are about them. They’re not (*whispers* “they are”).

Maybe you won’t enjoy them – that’s fine, don’t worry about it. To be honest I don’t really want to have to write them.

If you fancy you can follow @shankanalia on Twitter too, or just wait for the ‘collected works’ to turn up here.

Groceries
Retarded swarm
Idiotic aggregation
Of waste flesh
Clumped
Slumped
Browsing mindlessly
Bags as full as heads are empty
Cretinous mass.

Jumped Up Temp
You do my job;
I’ll do yours.
You don’t have a job,
So I’ll do them both.
Revolutionary plan,
Master of the scam.
Asset
Arseit
Why don’t you go?

Catching Up
Why won’t you die?
Too stupid to grasp
Your unwinding organs,
Too stupid to see your puddling blood.
Can your stupidity transcend flesh death?

Strategic Assessment
Fuck you and fuck your stupid plan.
An insult to intelligence
You make me want to weep
Tears of punch and steel
Revisions of blood:
Scarlet.

Pen Pals
BABBLING fuck-waddle.
Your email
Of blithering inconsequence
Fills me with dread.
Your purpose is uncertain,
Plagued with doubt,
Yet you forge on.

Team work
Random action!
Let’s do some stuff,
Let’s all cook,
Let’s all paint,
Let’s just do whatever we think
Best.
What a fucking mess.
Nice paint cake.

Mysteries of Management
You, you’re just some guy
I don’t know why
You’re talking to me
It’s clear
To me
You don’t know what you’re doing
So why, oh why must I comply?

Making Friends
I don’t think I trust you.
Ow what’s that?
Oh
It’s your knife
In my back.
I don’t trust you.

Martyrdom
Victim mentality
Criminal stupidity
Persecution complex
Attitudinal mess
Freak out and blame the rest
Your enemy’s the inside of your head

Shankilium – the Alloy of Angry Verse

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Ah happy, the New Year has slunk over the edge of the calendar. It’s actually been a good start to the year. I missed Blue Monday entirely and it seems only fitting to catch up with some more bitter verse. Work has that effect. And frankly, if I weren’t writing this stuff down I’d be etching it on people’s foreheads with a sharpened bulldog clip. So yeah, enjoy!

If you fancy you can follow @shankanalia on Twitter too, or just wait for the ‘collected works’ to turn up here.

 

Tactile
Touch me,
Touch me.
I’ll kill you:
I’ll take your hands
And place them round your throat.
Not so light now,
Your feather touch
Fat hands.
Touch me.

 

Striving
Oh, it’s all about you
You’re the best you can be.
Too bad
That’s so far
Below the worst
That everyone else
Can be arsed to be.
Oh you…

 

Heart-Shaped Hole
If I cut out your heart
Don’t think
It’s because I don’t like you.
Let’s be clear:
I cut out your heart
So it wouldn’t beat.
It’s more than dislike.

 

Equal
Rude, rude and abrupt,
Condescending
Demanding.
You expect respect,
You don’t command it,
You don’t deserve it,
Rude, stupid and abrupt.

 

Arrogant Twat
Don’t stop believing that you’re right.
Deny the evidence.
Your reason is subservient
To your ego train.
You’ll never know whether
You’re right or wrong.

 

Hand Icing
There’s something in your face.
It looks quite amiss,
Physiognomy out of place.
Oh, that’s just my fist.
Glazed with my knuckle,
Makes me chuckle.

 

Two Plus Two Equals You
That sound,
(That you’re ignoring)
Is the sound
Of me informing you
That you,
Are erroneous.
Your premise,
And your conclusions,
Are false.

 

Team Work
You don’t listen
Because you’re talking.
You don’t understand
That what you’re saying
Is what I said,
Because your mouth is not an ear.
Oralear.

 

Shankalline Structures – the Salts of Irritable Poetry

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Sure, Christmas is a time for good will and all that. But it’s also a time to look back on the year and consider the reasons for your present embittered state. Most of these will be work related. It’s never wise to give up on those negative emotions. Perhaps you’ve managed to package them for friends and family in the form of a disappointing gift. Well done, your curmudgeonly spirit willl inspire angry verse in them. And so a creative outlet is created.  So here are some more of my poems generated by idiocy and without this Twitter stream to poetically piss in I’d explode. If you fancy you can follow @shankanalia on Twitter too, or just wait for the ‘collected works’ to turn up here.

How Nice That You Came To See Me
When I see your face,
A terrible despair
Sweeps through me.
Your visage of impending dumb
Hollows me fearful.
Idiotic portent,
Panacea blade.

Continue reading →

Shankanostrophy – the Imminence of Terse Verse

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So, work’s been good… As evidence, I’ve only written a few new tiny poems. I like the lack of editing which the Twitter process allows (fitting it in between spreadsheet refreshes and screaming silently at the telephone). I don’t know about you but I get incredibly angry and overheat if I don’t find some vent. Apparently it’s not considered the done thing to shank your cube mates with an HB. If you want this sort of aggressive wordery immediately, follow @shankanalia on Twitter. Otherwise I’ll randomly upload a bunch here.

Warm To The Touch
Your heat makes me sweat,
Dampening me,
Dripping on my anger coil.
Drip drip,
Irritation,
Explosive chemistry,
Heat makes me punch you.

Clarity
No, you’re wrong.
You’re almost right, and you think you’re right.
But you’re not – you’re wrong.
If you’re right then I’m wrong.
I’m not.

Cranial Onomatopoeia
CRACK!
The sound of your skull
As it bounces off the steps.
Yes, I’ve detached your unused brain case
And kicked it down the stairs.
CRACK!

Process
Log off
Log on
Restart
Reboot
Unplug
Replug
Draw sword
Slash down
Hack
Gut
Smash
Stamp
Punch
Kick
Hurl
The pieces make effective shrapnel.

How Nice That You Came To See Me 2
There’s something about your smile,
That makes me shrink away;
There’s something about your laugh,
That makes me cringe inside.
I don’t want to die.

A Match Made In Heaven
My fiery passion ignites your soul.
Sweet tinder heart,
You are fuel to my fire.
Conflagration delicto.
Husky burned love hole.

Own It
Is it you or is it me?
I’m guessing,
Only guessing,
A shot in the dark,
A child in a well,
The stars to a blind man,
Kisses for a troll…
It’s you.

Octagoring
We thought of using a system,
No one’s done this before,
We each created one of our own,
And rejected each others’,
Now we have twelve systems.

 

Shankanography – the Study of Angry Verse

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  Twitter has proven to be a most entertaining medium for verse. I’m enjoying concisely expressing my annoyance in just 140 characters. Often these poems will have abbreviations which I’ve rectified here. I also take great pleasure in giving them simple titles, long after I’ve forgotten what the poem was inspired by. Usually it’s other people. Not you though, never you. I dislike management babble and those who insist on speaking vapidly without humour. I like nonsense though, but it’s got to be good-natured, interesting and imaginative. Otherwise… well poems ensue. If you fancy you can follow @shankanalia on Twitter too, or just wait for the ‘collected works’ to turn up here.

 

 

 

Shush
I’m over here,
You’re over there,
I can’t see you.
But I hear you,
All the time.
How can we meet?
How can I touch you?
How can I stop you talking?

Playtime
How I long for a day,
When I go out to play,
And return with the larks and the dew,
And the blood on my blade,
And the marks on the yew,
Where I found you.

String Bag
Let’s all go on a munt-hunt,
Track down a mugly moose.
I found a mountain munter,
And shot it with my gun.
Now I feel like a man
Plus shame.

Population Control
Kicking Nazis in the nads,
Makes me feel awful glad,
Your Aryan sperm,
And their crippled tails.
Swim back up you,
Curl up and die,
In never-dad.

Strategic Oversight
Don’t plan.
Won’t plan.
Can’t plan.
Ought to plan.
Might not fail.
Legend of the fail.
Your admin is weak old man.
Don’t plan.
Won’t plan.
Can’t plan.
The Vision
Leaky-faced word spout,
Sub-verbal dribblings,
Down your fat
Greasy face,
Frictionless verbiage
Pooling on the floor.
Health and safety mind hazard.

Say What You Think
Murmuring moron
Mumbling mimbler
Your fat lips
Slap together
Sticky smack
Murmuring moron
Choke
On your subvocalised
Brain gribble
Choke

Road Beer
Better disposed to London when en-rummed.
The shanking urge declines.
Your rudeness interests me.
Maybe you are human,
Despite your face.

Shankanalology – The Science of Poetic Anger

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Well gosh, it seems I’ve been annoyed enough to put some more poems together in a bumper box of punch. Once again I feel I should apologise for being quite so irritable. However it does reduce that bubbling pain in my chest when faced with utter incompetence and stupidity. It’s better than gassing them. For them, obviously. From my point of view they should be removed from the gene pool. Most of these are written while at work – an excellent diversion from the screen for a minute and very relaxing to compose. I hope you enjoy them; I’m sure your own workplaces are at least as annoying. If you fancy getting these more frequently follow @shankanalia on Twitter.

Sardines
Hunt you,
Docile prey.
Wedged in.
Fat man,
Arrogant youth;
Bars of your beating cage.
No escape.
Hunt you,
Docile prey.
Apathetic pack.
No protection.

Lodnol
Crammed tight,
Packed in,
Bus full of window licking fools,
Underground,
Airless box,
Heat,
Smelling of other people.
Living like this:
Astonishing.

Space
Your sweat hems me in,
Your face is oppression.
Proximity to you
Encapsulates
Why I loathe your city.
To live as you,
With you,
By choice:
A death;
Not mine.

Congenital Brilliance
Your mum drank in labour,
Your dad is a fool,
Consequentially you,
Are outwitted by the pool.
If only you’d drown,
But your fat makes you float

You Are Not My Responsibility
The painful slowness of your mind,
Makes me want to die inside,
But it’s your fault,
Not mine.
Or your mum’s fault.
Not mine.
Or your dad’s fault.

Saturday Night
Smiling faces,
Dead eyes,
Out for fun with the wife,
Pretty young things catch her eye,
Dead eyes,
Dead eyes.

Awakening
Come consciousness,
Force me into your glove of awareness.

I’m Here To Help
You talk to me,
I listen.
You spout gibbering tosh,
I listen.
You express a worthless opinion,
I listen.
I can’t help you,
You’re an idiot.

Limits
You call me once,
Twice,
Three times,
And you’re out.

Shankanolalia – The Sensation of Being Verse-Shanked

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While it’s always pleasant to be prolific I’m actually a little worried by how much anger I’ve been leaking into the internet. So it may as well increase with another bumper collection of mean-spirited Twitter verse from @Shankanalia. Again, I feel I should defend some of my harsher words here and point you to the real source of blame which is definitely not me…. It’s work, it’s the continuous frustration of dealing with other people who bewilderingly do not do things in exactly the same way that I do. Oh, and our absymal tools. Oh woe is a computer purchased in an ill-considered national contract. Sigh. Enjoy/despair.

Angry Tom
Get opened
Get cutted
Be an eviscerine
Cos I’m a shank machine

Infinite Stupidity
If I cut off your face
Took a peek in your holes
Would I find you inside
Or a tiny small person
Whose face just might hide An infinite regression of homunculi

Fake
O so bright o so chirpy
But your life is a sham
Make polite conversation
Counting out pills
O so bleak full of pity
Take out your big knife

Old and Still Dull
Your ceaseless prattle
Your endless moans
Do you hear the rattle
Inside your bones?

Lonely
Sad man sitting
Red Bull and cigarette
Sad man thinking
Lonely and heart upset
Sad man hanging
Adrenaline and anoxia

Prison Sweet
They sent me down cos I cut ya
Got raped every day cos I cut ya
But I don’t care cos I cut ya
Cos I cut ya you’ll never fiiiiiind love.

Your keyboard is my closest weapon
Stabby stabby stabby eyeholes
Broken jag of keyboard
Buried in your skull
Eyeholes full of letters
Alphanumeric sight unseen
Stabby stabby..

Futility
Why oh why Mr ‘Puter can’t you work?
If you can’t work then I can’t work too
Mr ‘Puter don’t you know I need you
Guess I’ll just go home now

Don’t Talk No Proper
Said the boy to the man
You ain’t got nuffin ya get me
Said the man to the boy
I got your face on CCTV
Said the boy to the man
Ya get me man

Ugly Is In The Beholder
Oh lady
Lady with a warthog face
Oh lady
Lady you scare me
Please don’t look at me
Oh lady
Can’t you euthanise for me?
Oh lady

Criminal (stupidity)
Broke into JD Sports to fight the man
Just to show em we can
The shutter defeated us
Come back tomorrow when
We can shoplift instead

Regret – a Gamble
Me an dese lads broke
Inta Ladbrokes
Dint ave no money
Orses for courses innit tho
What ve odds of dat?
Shouda done maffs, ya get me.