I set my eyes 
On bare legs and prise
 Open fair skin
 Make hemlines rise

Although make no mistake
 I’d compromise tight 
For something easier to ride

Most of the time
 With whoever can 
Match my stride

But for now stuck stirring
 Striving for side-saddle 
Sally’s purring satisfactions

Our interactions of course 
Could indeed be finer
 If either of your designer legs would sign 
Here to let me dine at them

I’ve taken such a shine to them 
Could you find the time to widen them? 
I’ll confide in them of course

Maybe ride a smile
 Up the smooth inside of them 
Taste the warmth and hide in them

I’ll feel fine in them so long as we
 Collide again
 Another contract signed for then

And peace of mind is either end of
 The neon sign that shines on them

I fall in love 12 or 13 times a day

deep incisions, filled
 and flowing with rapid indecision
 obscure my visions of grandeur. 
no debonair pairings of 
vocal precision 
and elaborate exhibitions of
 my own moral contrition’s 
can bring us all back from the brink.

the repetitions of poor decisions 
and renditions of songs that have long
 forged divisions
 between our persons. is it shocking
 that our condition 
forever worsens?
 as we perpetually circle
 and surf these waves uprooting the turf 
that we have laid to
 get paid, to
 get laid, and 
all the while fraying the ends of that for which our elders slaved.

modernity. visions of grandeur.

there is no solidity in a silicone world 
only poisonous fertility birthing clueless
 boys and girls.

Visions Of Grandeur

At present I do not partake in vice, 
I’m certain I’m not drunk nor am I high. 
But I’ll be damned if I won’t stop lusting, 
it’s the debauched vice I just can’t deny.
 I rely on the filth and corrupting, 
girls cigarettes that get lit by my match. 
Certainly a thing to leave me guilting, 
using parlour tricks to arch that girls back. 
Between lies and deceit and the cunning, 
to snare that girl and pin down as a win.
 It’s an art to do something so stunning,
 such as fill yourself with women on whim. 
And indeed I continue consuming, 
every kiss every bite and every lay. 
Girls under my skin with which I’m filling, 
are strewn mercilessly in to decay. 
A void, it’s a vacuum that keeps wanting, 
that space between my skeleton and skin. 
That space wished solid sits still decaying, 
a stench whisked well round my bones lonely winds.

Ovid's Empty Goblet

This is my full five poem set from the fantastic SUN AT NIGHT hosted at Pentameters Theatre in Hampstead.

1. The Travellers Inn
2. The Farce of Forced Education
3. Ovid's Empty Goblet
4. Visions of Grandeur
5. Septic

full set from SUN AT NIGHT @ Pentameters Theatre 19:10:14

The Travellers Inn

Seething bubbles settle,
They prop up the froth
As the broth shows mettle
Against the onslaught of my sips:
Like a moth the broth
Corrodes in the cracks between my lips.

It stirs in my breast,
The best of me.
The rest of me
Might follow.

From head to legs
As my brain borrows
Whatever it can get.
It’s mostly images
Of distant lives
Pillaged by the powder vibes
Stirring up desires for power
Designed so to ride out the night.
 
Light creeks in.
Not the sun but bulbs
Spinning in the breeze
From the holes in the ceiling.

This pit of sin that I signed up to sit in.

Cringing at the thought of beginning again
Slugs clinging to my sticky throat and
Swilling scotch to try and clear that croak.
All this because we breathe through notes?

Well I got the weapon to load
If the ammo’s at the ready?
Steady with the barrel as you
Try and cheat life.
Aim it as though you aim
To blow the fluid from your eye.

Reeling in disgust.

But a stirring in my breast pulls at
The best of me.
The rest of me
Might follow.
Hollow legs hollow head
As my brain borrows
Whatever
It can get.

The Travellers Inn

I lived on a boat.
I had to leave my land abode
Because my girl chose to show some leg;
Another man with which she wished to go to bed.
So now instead I float and sway
Hoping that the rope would fray
Just enough
So the boat would float away.
Or I did at least but recently
That decay seems to have eased,
As water now laps at my sides
I feel my gripes at life subside
And though my pride had not survived
The fact
That she derides my types in
Ears of other men lacks tact.
This is before of course
Her torso is born out of lust for his
Financial hoards.
Her champagne lifestyle on lemonade money
A campaign of sickly styled infantile air raids
On funds that are compared to mine comparatively air space,
Vast and all encompassing.
It comforts him that which comforts her
And within these vaults their love unfurls
But it’s based on paper and
I felt that for so long our bond was so much shapelier.

I Lived on a Boat

This is my three poem debut at Velvet Tongue; London's Erotic Literary Soiree at The Book Club in Shoreditch. Fun and frolics were had by all!

full set from Velvet Tongue @ The Book Club 26/10/14

A poem inspired by Planetary Collectives short film 'Overview' and their upcoming feature 'Planetary'.
www.weareplanetary.com

Notes Of An Astronaut

Drink Coke

Name taken from a Bill Hicks sketch. The ultimate commercial that we may see one day yet.

Drink Coke

Apologies in advance. Any childhood fans of Bernard's Watch, The Queens Nose or Toy Story are to be accompanied by an adult.

Words here: http://tomnashwords.wordpress.com/2014/11/07/oh-deary-me/

Enjoy.

Oh deary me.

My two poem set from the ever popular and always wonderful Spoken Word London.
Thanks to Pat Cash for always putting on a cracking night.

full set from Spoken Word London @ Vogue Fabrics 10/12/2014

London based poet with a tendency toward promiscuous verse and deviant imagery all presented within largely self-absorbed subject matters.

Available for hire.

tomnashwords

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