The Last Word

These fucking fuckers
Fucking up our lives
For their personal stake
In our political state
Sucking our lives dry
Leading fates awry
Leaving fears to dry

And this comment’ry
That comedy
Which tries to make it seem alright
Is now as bad
And ignorant
As the fuckers so merrily fucking us
So shame on me
for plugging in
For staying tuned and trying
How sorely fucked the feeling is
As wit washes over this fucking
It’s us,
it’s you,
it’s me
That’s really surely fucking up
I hardly ever knew the game
Yet know that I’m now
Royally f**ked

 

Lazy Boy

Busy days
Ain’t got the strength
To blow these blues away
Worth no money
Got no food
This mind state set
With no wants but you.

Smoked Out Slow

Bored with work ‘cause there’s too much to do
Wasting my time instead listening to music
Writing words to fill my head
Filling my soul with the takers of pain
Drinking some smoking then writing again

And imbibing
Deep breathing
To scribble again

Slow music better than no music
Quiet music better than loud
Hot tunes hold my mind in line
This night goes so slow – so unkind
The shakes once again start me shaking
It’s the fault of quick thinking whilst sitting

The tongues through my head
Keep me waking

Drastic action has me waiting
So long that eyes close under eyelids
Strange thoughts prop my psyche
Weird music and thinking
Sad slow – stoppage drinking
pushes time
to just over the brink!

 

301

Just before he sleeps abed
He sings the tunes played in his head
These minute rhymes and dainty songs
Are his to sing, to hum alone

As noises all about are blocked
The sounds heard here are safely locked
Within the passages of his mind
And so they stay: Regressed in time.

clouds 2007

Lautaro

The Gods have awoken
and they are smiling!
Not at you
but – for sakes scream – with you!
And you Whoop!
For now is the real time
of recompense.

Beck Beat Poets online

David Pape is a regular poet at our Blackfriars Vocal events in Southwark. He’s an awesome orator, and as you can see from this – a talented writer.

I hope you enjoy Squirrel on Cocaine, any comments / feedback will get back to him.

Squirrel on Cocaine

This is the story of a squirrel who failed,
not so bright or bushy-tailed.
A regular rogue with hardened eyes –
a squirrel who cheats and drinks and lies.

Beat up a hare and mugged a rabbit,
all because he’d got the habit.
Lost his friends, became a stealer;
his only mate’s a cocaine dealer.

The crime rate’s up around the park;
he only comes out after dark.
“Are you looking at me? Are you a voyeur?”
he shouts in induced paranoia.

“It’s these ‘greys’ – they’re all the same;
sendem back to whence they came!
They’ve got no morals, they’re aggrevating
they’ll steal your nuts while you’re hibernating.”

He ‘round those half-empty lager cans,
making deals and dodgy plans.
Asking for trouble if he don’t mend his ways –
a fox’ll get him one of these days!

“Fell out of a tree, or so I’ve heard;
had a fight with some big old bird.”
A crook, a thief, a scoundrel, a rotter
it’s not at all like Beatrix Potter!

David Pape

© davidpape 2005

She says different

This isn’t mixed messages
She only sends out one
It’s long and convoluted
And sits uneasy on the tongue
But
It’s just the same
It always is…
Her conciliatory song
That i love you
That I’m a little bit worried
That she’s not sure who’s right
Nor what is wrong
As I waste what we’ve been given
Charting courses, this stagnant race,
As we writhe in guilt
Or fake and wait,
consumed in lies through lost nights due embrace
Her voice as calm as stone
Embittered, pleading not be left alone
There is a light that glances us
In loves fine spirals
Leaving some sweet trace…