I-CON (by P.A. Levy)

 

 

Looney Case

suited street preacher
stupid street preacher
standing in the drizzle outside
the run-down co-op
wire mesh
star of cctv (piece to camera)
battle-zone front-line where

he stands
grasping hold of a leather bound
king james bible (£26.99 from amazon)
holding tight for all his worth and twisting
words (this is the word < > drow)
behind him graffiti reads ‘cunt’
which seems savagely blunt
but if the crown (with or without thorns) fits …

… smile
hand out god leaflets
be a sunbeam
in the grey grizzle

his congregation of kids from the estate
do bmx wheelies
as he delivers all his best bits
they only come to take the piss
maybe cast the first brick
telling him to fuck off back to sandal heaven
oblivious he preaches on with a
mad look of obsession
death ray lasers (1950’s sci-fi eyes)
as he watches
hell and fire
and naturally damnation of the eternal kind

his mission
(your mission
should you accept it
to read this poem before it self destructs
in fifteen seconds)
his mission being spread the word
like myxomatosis
because jesus ain’t as popular
as the beatles and the beatles ain’t as popular
as oasis and oasis ain’t as popular
as lady gaga
for if it carries on like this
the meek can go fuck themselves (lube up meek)
the scum will inherit the earth
angelic choirs will sing (or sin) to drum&bass
and urban grime with killer rhymes

it’s at this point
that this poem begins to self destruct
but if god was gangsta
all those fallen women jesus saved
for a rainy day
would be getting their kits off
donating the tips they earned with their tits
to saving this verse
then we would know
what the preacher did next
and the world wouldn’t be stuck up
the arses of the meek

smoke

fizz

pop


splutter

please make a small donation
to help build an ode
for the crippled children of drow
a small weekly amount
just fill in your bank account details
and
GIVE US YER FUCKING MONEY NOW

* * * * *

Born in East London but now residing amongst the hedge mumblers of rural Suffolk, P.A.Levy has been published in many magazines, from ‘A cappella Zoo’ to ‘Zygote In My Coffee’ and stations in-between.  He is also a founding member of the Clueless Collective and can be found loitering on page corners and wearing hoodies at www.cluelesscollective.co.uk.

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Unfair (by P.A. Levy)

Unfair

Yell if yer wanna go faster faster faster

jet fighters are just tomorrow’s

cigarette lighters, sit back we’ll have a long bong,

or two, then try and measure the speed of sound,

the sound of war – (what is it good for?)

Absolutely nothing stimulating about being squeezed

into the ghost train twice a day, there’s no fun in the bumper

car school run, and what’s the point in pointing guns

just so you can win a prize: a china dog, a cuddly toy,

a goldfish drowning in a plastic bag? 

Who in their right mind wants that? – (perhaps it’s waving.)

This is the fun fair so why not enjoy yourself?

Relax, ride the rollercoaster

get fat and stuck in candyfloss,

play a little find the lady, or in the house of mirrors

adjust your size, shape, contemplate

why cocunuts are shy.  Fish for ducks

and throw some hoops.

Then Scream when you’ve had enough.

Scream when yer wanna stop.

Scream and Scream until you’re sick.

But what exactly did you expect?



* * * * *

Born in East London but now residing amongst the hedge mumblers of rural Suffolk, P.A.Levy has been published in many magazines, from ‘A cappella Zoo’ to ‘Zygote In My Coffee’ and stations in-between.  He is also a founding member of the Clueless Collective and can be found loitering on page corners and wearing hoodies at www.cluelesscollective.co.uk.