Tag Archives: hate

Shankalline Structures – the Salts of Irritable Poetry

by

0

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

by

0

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

by

0

  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

by

2

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

by

2

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.

Shankanaliadelika – Poems of Rage

by

0

It seemed time to lump a few more pieces of bitter and violent verse together. This may very much not be your thing, but you’ll have to accept it for what it is: work therapy. Without this tiny release into the land of Shankanalia I would almost certainly be taking bits off people and posting them to their parents. This keeps me calm and friendly. It’s possible I should drink less coffee. Ho hum. If you do like them, why not follow @shankanalia on Twitter and receive anger directly. Won’t that be fun. I kind of see them as both poems and potentially songs. I usually get a stolen jingle in my head when I’m jotting them down. Plus I’ve never really grasped the idea of poetry that doesn’t rhyme so I do consider them short songs really. If you want to sing them out loud, well I’d be thrilled and only slightly weirded out.

We’re All the Same Inside
I opened you
To look inside
What a surprise
To find you died

I Can Help You
Do you have GPS on your phone?
GREAT
Could you give to me your location?
GREAT
Missile targetting system programmed…
GREAT
And launch…

Help Me to Help You
Knife to your throat
Type in the letters
I read to you
What did you type?
Those aren’t the letters
Let’s try again
Knife to your first-born

Be Sad
There’s something I used to whisper in your ear
To bring you pain and oddly cheer
Now when you wake up full of weeping
You know why.

Theory of Mind
Sweet fucktard
Instructions to your mind
Re-routed through you arse
Fart-filtered thoughts
Pink-eyed mind

Cyclist
Your indicators’re in easy reach
I’ll use my knife to learn and teach
That you don’t use ‘em
Indicates to me
You’re a one tonne twat

Discord
I Value your opinion
SHOUT you fuckers
SCREAM you wankers
BELLOW your inanities
Bloody my mind with your volumised vacuity
Your thoughts are worth more than mine

Stop Talking
My cranium implodes with the noise of your voice
Detonation vocalisation
Your senseless prattle erodes me
Empathic void
Be quiet
die.

Hunch
Your spinal deformity makes you
Unusually bendy
Your skeletal flexibility
Missision Impossibility
Hunchy invisible concave-spine gal