Tag Archives: Twitter

Shankicide: Shivving with Death Poetry

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Shankanalia10When does artistic expression become threatening? Presumably it’s as soon as we don’t like it. The most exciting response a person can have to art is when they feel it is about themselves. That doesn’t mean it is about them of course, they just think it is. Does that belief mean anything? Inasmuch as we hope to affect others with our art, whatever form it takes, then yeah I suppose that belief does mean something.

I’d be excited if someone read these poems and thought “gosh, I’m such a burden on the emotions and actions of others that yes, this exactly describes how I must make others feel”. Then they would be better people than I’d usually give them credit for.

Follow @shankanalia on Twitter for daily suffering.

Shankanalia - Shankicide: Shivving with Death Poetry

Alpha Cube
You make me want to kill things,
Hunt you through the woods
Or cubicle maze.
Pursue you with knives and rulers,
Measure you out,
Cut you down.

The Time Traveller’s Spite
Imagine how you could undo the past
By travelling through time:
Find your father,
Say hi,
Kill him before he inseminates
Your mum with his fate.

Effervescent with Emotional Bubbles
I see you struggle with control,
The passion bursting from your seams.
Just remember what we did to Jesus:
Nailed him to a fucking cross.
Contain yourself.

Diseases of The Mind
Just ‘cos you’re a fucking prick
Don’t imagine you’ll make me care
Beyond the irritation that you cause
With your gangrenous management infection

Not A Blame Culture
A problem shared
Is a problem doubled.
Double or nothing.
Do you want my half?
Swap?
Oh, they’re the same.
Stupid game,
Let’s just blame.

Your Shoes Don’t Fit
Fuck you-
Your thoughts,
Your feelings;
You hurt mine.
Lying
Evil
Cunt.
If I had your skin to wear
I’d burn it.
Don’t care how you feel:
Fuck you.

With Us, It’s Personal
Don’t send me worthless shit.
Hacked?
Boo hoo,
Face-sadness.
Fix your password,
Get a life.
Do they sell knives?
Buy one;
Bury it in you.

Related poetrical ramblings

Shankata – Layers of Hatred Accrued Poetically

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Shankanalia9I haven’t read these poems for a little while, and I’ve thankfully forgotten exactly what inspired them. They are a little more personal than my usual spilling of bile. That doesn’t necessarily make any difference of course. As far as I recall from studying poetry at school you can read whatever you like into them and that has equal validity with the artist’s intentions (obviously I jest in referring to myself as an artist!) That never made sense to me.

Surely a work is ultimately what the author intended? Anyway, I’m not going to even try to tell you what these are about, or what they mean to me. I would however, be interested in hearing what you think they are about.

Follow @shankanalia on Twitter for live pain.

Shankanalia – Layers of Hatred Accrued Poetically

Fuck You
Your thoughts
Persist through me;
In me;
Defrauding me
Of free will-
Genuine intent.
In knowing this
I emasculate you,
Turn on you.
My head;
My rules.

I’ll Remember Your Ashes
You might be in my head
Alone
Hiding
In the dark,
I will find you.
I’ll burn you out
Till your eyes are cinders
Bones of ash
Raise you
Raze you.

Abmanagement
The tension I feel
(Cos you don’t know the question
To the answer you posited
With a sneer of authority)
Is my insides
Revolting at your stupidity.

Remember Morph?
I prefer to use my fingernails
To get inside your skin.
Peel back layers of flesh and fat
and claw the bones inside
Scrape out the marrow;
Make a toy.

Blubbery Tearing
Weep
Cry
Drown you in my sorrow.
Choke on my saline,
Ocular sweat,
I can see inside your lungs:
Rasping desperate red,
Like the lids of my eyes.

What A Pleasure
Tension crawls up my spine
A tremor in the tendons
A twist in the muscle
Bunched
Writhing
Inside out
Contorted remembrance
Scorned bones.

Mini-You
I’d blind you
Take your eyes
And hands
Make an homunculus
To dwell in darkness
And torment
To make you real
Gift you suffering
Bless with pain

Related articles

Shanktimonious: Self-Righteous Angry Poetry

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Human to Humour Interface

Much of my emotional distress is, I believe, the result of a mismatched interface between me and the outside world. For example, I consider the ability to be asked a question, understand it and provide a suitable answer to be a pretty basic, core requirement of communicating with others. This is less normal than I had once suspected.
I spend much of my day, especially at the moment, talking to other people. They have a lamentable inability to comprehend information, no matter how simple the presentation and content. It is painful to listen to and observe. How the fuck can these (apparent) humans interact? Are they fucking psychic and so find my primitive scrapings of crude symbols to be so far beneath their telepathic intellects that they cannot comprehend written language? Or are they just utterly incompetent?
I’m regularly assured that while many people are lacking in certain skill areas (like communication, memory, reason…) they have been employed because of their amazing skills in other areas (like talking to other people – sure they can talk, it’s unfortunate the content is meaningless repetitive babble). But I doubt it. If you can’t communicate then there ain’t much else you can do either. I suppose they must just be the drones of a psychic hive mind.

Follow @shankanalia on Twitter to experience anger in real time.

Shanktimonious: Self-Righteous Angry Poetry

Your Call Is Important To Us
Whaddup fucknut,
Thanks for your call.
I’m hanging up now
So I can hang myself.
Did you think,
When you rang
To withhold your shartbrain query?
*Chokesigh*.

Ventriloquicidal
Sometimes I feel like putting
My fist into your face,
You know I can puppet you;
Make your face flap
When you’re talking like a twat.

Downtown Fo Shizzle
Put yo hands in the air!
Put yo hands in the air!
No, your other hands.
Bla-blam.
I don’t accept surrender from imbeciles.

Blubber Spear
The only tears I’ll ever shed again
Are other people’s blood.

Soft-Hearted Smiler
You know I’d beat you with a stick
Just for looking at me slanty:
your judging eyes.
Maybe I’m over-sensitive,
Let’s see how your screams affect me.

All My Wheels Are Round
I can only assume
That you’ve got a plan
That I can’t understand.
Inscrutable,
Ineffable,
Miracle brain sparks,
Random ideas.
Incomprehensible.

Thousand Yard Glare
Fuck you and fuck your stupid face,
Stick to chewing and spitting.
Slack-jawed boggle-eyed
Blandly hateful faces
Gazing with malevolent vacancy.

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Shankbuddy – Convenient Hate Poems

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Sure I’ve had a lovely week off. Lovely because it was a week off. I’m anticipating a return to the intellectual environment that produced the poems below. That may seem rather pessimistic, but I think it’s a reasonable expectation that by Friday I’ll be writing more of these.

Follow @shankanalia on Twitter for irregular poetic updates.

Shankbuddy – Convenient Hate Poems

Shankanalia 9

Well Done, Oh Well Done Indeed
It’s not a competition
To be the biggest twat,
But if it were
(You useless fuck)
You’d win the fucking gold,
And dance and pose
To the fucking moron crowd.

Your Praise Means The World To Me
5 stars.
5 fucking stars.
5 pointed stars.
Devil sucking
Hobo performers
For the cuddly
Reward of meaningless
Paper:
Measurement of fuck all.

Hard of Hearing You
My tolerance for your bullshit is
At an all time low.
Incomprehensible mumbling,
Handwringing twat,
Inarticulate to the point
Of dismemberment.

Face-Borne Contaminants
Scream at you till my lungs are dry,
Retch cranial fluid instead of tears,
Hack and sneeze
My plague of loathing
Into your moist
Flesh sack.

With All My Heart I Embrace You
Bubbling chest of fury:
Ribs bending
Spreading
Spangling
Under pressure
Of anger;
Bloody rage flow;
Spear idiots on broken rib spars:
Bleed on you.

Sir You Vex Me
Cut you
Fuck you
Break you
With my fists
Filled with rage.
Sate it with your
Bruising
Punctured
Whimpering
Whining
Flesh.
Keep you dead.

More of The Same

Skankrabatic – The Sinuous Twist of Angry Poetry

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Shankanalia 8

Oh god the rambling stupid mass daily at my door, in my inbox; the streets are clogged with semi-sentience. To mumble perchance to speak? How I hate the crowds.

Follow @shankanalia on Twitter for petulant poetic pouting.

Skankrabatic – The Sinuous Twist of Angry Poetry

There’s Book Learnin’ And There’s Stoopit
Ah you bleating fuckwit
The words fall out of you
Like an upended shit bucket,
Full of waste ideas
Half-digested notions.
You never understood.

A Damp Homage
I feel it on my fingers
and between my toes.
Your blood is slowly congealing
Amidst your deathy throes.
That buzzing in my ears
Is your screaming tears.

The Bright Side
Sometimes I feel
Overstressed
Tense or sad
Then I reflect
With the brightest of grins
That sooner
Or later
We’ll all be dead

Lovehearts
Oh, pulpy heart
Squeeze the bitch tits
Of aortic thump thump
Mash with cardiac fist
Grind with pulsating finger punch
Flow blood, to death.

Just Make Them Up
If you don’t trust the numbers
Don’t ask-
Hush
Don’t speak.
The numbers are out to get you;
They know you can’t count,
Can’t add them as friends.

Freak Show
This room is full of ugly mirrors.
Infinite regress of shattering hideousness.
Shards of toothless uncompromising foulness,
The out and in.

Jangling Jargon
Brain mashing repetition,
Copied rhetoric and babble.
I take your point
And stab you with it;
Knife in your back
You won’t feel it;
Numbed by words.

More of The Same

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Shankopalypse – The End of Angry Poetry

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The End is Nigh, or at least it feels like it is a lot of the time. The end for me, preferably the end for you. If we both go down that’s at least a 50% win, and most days that would be good enough for me. I’m not greedy or selfish, I’ll take my share of the pain if it will take you down with me.

Follow @shankanalia on Twitter for irregular poetic updates.

Shankopalypse – The End of Angry Poetry

Mandatory Voluntary Participation
You’re here today because you wanted to be
Uh…
Don’t interrupt
We’re here to talk to you
Uh…
Shush now
It’s important that you listen
Uh…
The end.

Straight Talking
Please, ask a question
We’ll give you an answer
Not the answer to that question, no
But the question I imagined in a dream…

Teamwork Part Two
Stop dying:
I’m trying
To do a thing
And I can’t
Because you’re crap.
Your insistence on failure
Is causing me pain.
I ought to return it,
Pain.

A Contribution To The Debate
The bright day of doom
Dawns on the unevolved man-beasts
Prowling the town in search
Of food or hope.
Notttingham rocks;
Mansfield doesn’t.

The Power of Advertising
Let’s be clear
Having a child read
Your cynical bullshit spiel
Makes your product
Ever more hateful
Plus I now want to cripple the child.

DIY
I want to dismantle you
With a hammer
And a staple-remover,
Reassemble you
To perform some function
More useful:
Maybe a box,
Or sausages.

Your English Is Excellent
Spam-tangling fucknonic moron,
Spaz-bangled fucktittery
Tossing belly grue
As if it helps.
Gargled verbal abnouns;
You gibber primevally.

More of The Same

Shankulation – The Screamery of Angry Poetry

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Shankanalia 2

Some of my friends tell me I have anger management issues. After withdrawing the knife I remind them that I manage my anger very well. That’s what poetry is for surely, the expression of emotion using whatever words and noises we can, even if they are just an incoherent shriek.

I strive to rise above the mere bellow and twist the words into an appealing form (to me). It’s important that I don’t dwell for too long on whatever has enraged me (you know who you are), so this short form is great. It spurts out, and the suppurating wound left behind may eventually heal.

Follow @shankanalia on Twitter for live screaming.

Shankulation – The Screamery of Angry Poetry

The Underside
Occiferous tribblings emanate
From my desken drawer
And unhued exhalations
Of ghostly breath
Chill my ice spine.

All The Answers Are Inside
Fuck burgers
And lung pestilence
To silence your gasping,
Grasping,
and failing
Search for the truth.
The words you need can be carved in your wrist.

The Hands That Tie
Can I amputate your leg
and gag you with its meat?
Appendage bondage.
Bind your hands with
A chain of toes
and blind you
With your penis?
For my pleasure.

Convenience Sore
Cut you open,
Stitch you up.
Squeeze your gash,
Your suppurating wound
Heal you with a fistula
So I can punch you
Directly
In your bloody heart.

Children/Barren
Ah you simpering fuck-peddalos,
Cycling futiley through muddening filth,
Buried to your mutant-infested
Spasming genitals:
Fire your dead seed.

The Cycle of Shame
Blazing a trail
Of embarrassing banality,
Outstretched arms
Reaching for t

he earth.
With ambition like yours
We’ll have another wheel
In no time.

Cause for Celebration
Thanks for that;
For all your work
Your thoughts
Have been received.
It’s clear your work
And thoughts
Have been the problem.
Please leave. Ta.

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Shankaz’eroth: The Dead God of Bitter Verse

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Shankanalia 6Well, hello New Year. As ever the new yule brings with it an identical blend of sunny optimism and bleak defeatism as the previous endless year. Fantastic. I’m cheerfully pinballing between genuine enthusiasm and cut-your-throat frustration. I’m certain that the unreasonable expectation others place on this time of the year drags me under with their incipient despair as they prepare to fail in the banal promises to the universe. I dislike New Year’s Resolutions.

So it’s time for another miniature anthology of @shankanalia Twitter verse. I tap these out whenever I’m getting too angry during the day to actually accomplish anything. It’s looks set to be a productive end of the financial year. Hurray / kill me now.

Shankaz’eroth: The Dead God of Bitter Verse

Inappropriate Punctuation
I’ve got a 5 bullet plan for improvement
No, not bullet points
They’re bullets, one for each of you
And one for myself

Too Touchy Feely for Meely
If I beat you
To within an inch of your life
Would you hug me
As I pulled out my knife?
If I bled you
Of all of your blood
Would you just die?

It Am An Sale
Incredible
Bumbling pygmies
Fill the streets.
Fat footed,
Stumbling
Over mediocre thrills
And plastic filth.
Leggings stretched into unitards.

Imaginary Deja Vu
Brain funked
and gashed with
Thoughts and memories
Of a time never happened;
Trapped in the
Bite of neuronal flare
and wake
and sleep
and wake confused.
 
Basic Lies
Reassure others about
Their incompetence
By pretending we are as inept
As they
But it’s a lie.
We’re good
You’re just shit.

Trust Exercise
So I delegate
To shift the weight
And share the work.
In my error
I asked you:
A mistake,
I see.
Take it back
Or let you fail,
And who’s to blame?

Happy Places
Fucking hate
Cuntiferous rending
Vile despised anti-human
Spittle-coated bastardy
Viscous cuntmongers.
Gin time.

Shanktasm – The Derivation of Pleasure from Angry Poetry

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I’ve been trying to figure out why I write poetry at all. I rarely write anything positive or life-affirming. It’s almost all aimed at wreaking havoc. Very sad. If I didn’t write it, I suspect I’d have to find creative uses for stationery.

Life can be stressful and is jam packed with stupidity and insistently, repetitively idiotic behaviour. Most of it can’t be challenged directly. Not without being fired. I strongly suggest you join in. If you feel like playing, tweet me @shankanalia and we’ll play hate tag.

Top tip: if you feel really angry in a meeting and don’t feel that you can safely or sensibly express that verbally, why not figure out how many of the items in the room can be used to kill the offending individual. It’s surprisingly calming.

You can follow @shankanalia on Twitter for live outbursts, and you can listen to some of the poems on Reverbnation.com/CaptainPigheart.

The Derivation of Pleasure from Angry Poetry

Burn At Both Ends
Burning with rage,
Fear-filled cunting candle of hate
Vaporising reason,
Feeling,
Thought.
Vanishing wax of loathing
Fuelling a pain-streaky wick.
 
Irreducible Stupidity
Elegant convoluted obscurity
Confers no greater accuracy
Truth or wisdom
The truth is complex
But that’s not why it’s true.
You are simple.
 
Really, still talking?
The raving banality
Saps my will
Runs dry of tolerance
Leaves the rasping
Bark of rage.
Say something useful
Better:
Be silent.
 
House Styles
Why do you think
It’s more of a question
When you exaggerate
The punctuation??
It adds no more meaning than your
Whining inclining pronunciation.
 
You Got Skillz
Fuckadaisical lazy parasite twat
Failing even in failure
An immense burden of incompetence
You can’t even shoulder.
Overflow and drown us all.
 
Cancerous Words
Sinking dread
At the sound of your face
That retching gasp of imbecile drool
Unique wisdom caught and hacked up
With lungbuttery prophecy.
 
A Rare Talent
Seeping
Painful awareness
Of your incompetence.
How simple
Can a thing be
To still elude you?
I know you’re unlettered,
Dyscalculic;
But also stupid.

Shankaphone – Shoving Angry Poetry in Your Aural Canal

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Well it’s been a bastard few weeks, comprising both extremes of fun and misery. Excellent combination. These poems are all from a while ago – possibly even the first half of this year, and yet they call to me fresh and relevant from the rosebed of life.

They tread once more my familiar themes of loathing stupidity and the desperate failings of others to communicate either elegantly or well.

I recently read some more Shankanalia out at Pub Poetry and was thrilled to find they were both terrifying and amusing.

Do enjoy them with friends or family. You can follow @shankanalia on Twitter too. There’s a bunch of stuff I read for you at: Reverbnation.com/CaptainPigheart

Shoving Angry Poetry in Your Aural Canal

Internal Distemper
Oh hello there
You must be a feeling
Come and find a place
To be
In a space
On my face.
I don’t know you well
But you feel
Right about
Here.

Punctuality is Next to Accuracy
Starts at 9.30.
Starts at 9.30!
Be on time,
Get there early,
Don’t be late.
9.15:
It’s a 9.30 meet for a ten o’clock start.
Motherfuckers.
My sleep.

Brevity, An Impossible Feat
Indeed,
To summarise -
That is,
Condense our verbosity.
To briefly compress,
With short words.
I think you’ll find
The answer – we’re out of time.

Aneurysm By The Slide
I understand.
I do,
Oh god I do.
Don’t you have a handout?
Please.
I can’t take it:
PowerPoint doom,
Collapsing cogitation,
Death brain…
Oh I weep.

Quick Witted Fuckwit
My brain is dying.
The speed of your discourse
Like mind treacle
Wading through the slovenly
Progress of words-
Time too short;
Faster please.

Eleven AM
Fist chasing madman
Looped fist looping
Frenzy of fisted blur
Every throw misses
Circular punches
Maybe not drink so early
In the day?

Ask and You Shall Receive
If you didn’t want it
You shouldn’t have asked
For it.
What you got
Is what you needed.
You don’t know
How much I need to gut you-
Extract it from the source.

Shankalata – Tasting The Hate Verse

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I don’t know if it’s a combination of increased work stress and other personal stuff, but I’m enjoying waves of rage, breaking across my heart and mind like a bloody tide. Perhaps it’s just that so few people out there (in my cynical moments) appear to offer any real worth. Not like you beautiful internet people, oh the delights you inflict upon my soul!

Terrifyingly I’m even struggling to find time to record how angry am through the journal of terse verse. That’s not good. It’s probably bottled up inside, ready to detonate and shower my colleagues with spittle shrapnel and pieces of vein. Ho hum.

Do enjoy them with friends or family. You can follow @shankanalia on Twitter too. There’s a bunch of stuff I read for you at: Reverbnation.com/CaptainPigheart

Tasting the Hate Verse

I Want to Understand You
Don’t do it
That way:
It’s wrong
Why did you do it
That way?
It’s wrong.
Why are you this way?
It’s wrong.
Why do I shout
This way?
You are wrong.

Finding a Purpose
Like a diamond
That’s been ground down:
Still sharp
In tiny ways,
But worthless.
Good for chewing timber,
Pencils or pens.
Just sit there
Quietly.

Whirling Devious
Like an elegant dance
Where you slip and slide
Twisting malice into lies
Making a messy
Alliance of bad ideation
And abortive creation
Dance.

I Missed You
How quickly the memory fades…
I’d forgotten in your absence
The level of ineptitude
That leaks out of your brain.
Oh, memory
Protects me from you.

Feeling Broody
Nasty little gashlets.
Screaming squalling
Continuous bawling
Rampant noise engine
Powered by uncaring
Parents.
Ravening horde of future thugs.

There’s Something in Physiognomy
Too fattened with ugly
To think
Excess skull
Shrunken brain
More face than an average human
With a head 1/3 of your creasing brow.
 
The Road to Hell
Rainbows and unicorns
Acid shower,
Napalm your dreams
Fry your My Little Pony ideals
Burn off your skin
Idealism in ashes
Fuck your happydumb.

Shankanalia – the shank in your coffin

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Back to work – seems an apt time to post up some bloody verse. These happy little Twitter snippets largely cover my experiences dealing with, or rather putting up with / suffering / cleaning up after management consultants.

I’d compare them with homeopaths, but generally drinking water doesn’t do you any harm. Unless you do that instead of taking your cancer meds. Ah yeah – they’re exactly like those snake oil selling bastards: dangerous, irresponsible, well paid frauds.

Do enjoy them with friends or family. You can follow @shankanalia on Twitter too. There’s a bunch of stuff I read for you at: Reverbnation.com/CaptainPigheart

The Shank in Your Coffin

Favours
“Shank me?”
You’ll thank me
When I split your ribs
Pour out your organs
Make a moron smoothie
Feed it to your kids
Bleeeeeeeeeed
Out.

You Hired Who
Worthless pageant of lies.
To be so gullible?
No child is so blind.
Consultant expense
Talking cock with fellatriste’s mouth
Consultant lies.

Shushie
Indoor voices, mother-fuckers!
Keep your words to yourself
Nobody cares.
Indoor voices, mother-fuckers!
Don’t make me scream in my outdoor voice.

Missing Statements
Dignity.
The face of adversity
Is blank and empty of thought.
Respect for naught.
Abase yourself
In speech of confusion;
False words.
Ignorance.

Appointment
We’re ready for you
Oh, someone’s looking for you
We’ve moved
Try over there
Yeah we can’t talk to you now
Wait five
Come back later
Who are you?

Raw Love
Oh Pepperami-faced man!
Face of scrubbed corned beef.
Gristle-cheeked,
Bloodshot skin.
You have a mate:
I’m surprised.
She must like the texture.

Shankagon – the Shape of Angry Verse

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Ah Summer, a time of sweating heat and the IQs dropping as the mercury rises. I find it harder to care with the endless greenhouse that is work – we’re now hitting 30 degrees most days. It’s horrible. I’m pretty sure if I bathed in the blood of strangers I’d feel much cooler.

Anyway, this seemed an excellent point to perspire some bile.  Hope you like them. You can follow @shankanalia on Twitter too. You can also listen to one lot of shanking verse: Shankanolalia The Sensation of Being Verse Shanked. I’ll pop some more up this weekend.

Download: song_12978901

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

Shankagon

Ergonomic Fuckstick
Forwards
Backwards
Fuckwit up
Fuckwit down
Random ambling
Circular reasoning
Meandering wimble
What the fuck do you mean
Want
Think?
Twat.
All The Snakes Are Gone
Swarming faux-Irish fucktits
Drunken blunder
Obsessed with an unimpressive ale.
Slow to thought,
Quick to bellow,
Big hatted adverts for idiots.

Blemish
Something on your face
In your face
Skull puncture
No time to suture
Hole in the back
To match the front
Gashed
Smashed
Give me back my axe.

These Am The Alphabet
I’m sorry but you don’t make sense
That’s not a word you see.
Yes, you used letters.
Well done.
But they have to be in order
To be a word.
Tool.

Mind Tosser
Something slipping
Tripping
Slip-sliding
In your mind:
Marbles circling the drain
Tossed out by a child’s shake.
Fragile dreamer.
No one knows.

Private Language
You’re a madman
Loose-tongued,
Raving pidgin
Squawks of language;
Private jibber-jabber.
No I don’t know what you mean,
We lack common reference.

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.