A Bad Stephen King Book by Ian Lewis Copestick

A Bad Stephen King Book


Life has turned into
a Bad Stephen King
book. It may sound
crazy, but it’s true.
All of the elements
are in place;

The plague that
threatens humanity.

The scarily, crazed
crypto – fascist leader.

All we need now is
a plucky band of
outsiders. Preferably
one with a special
forces background.
A feisty female, to be
the love interest, and
at least one innocent
child, with strange, but
strangely relevant
powers.

If they are still casting,
I’d like to audition for
the part of the guy who
has a history of addiction.
Who seems like a coward,
until he becomes the
unlikely, but obvious
hero in the last quarter
of the book.

Let’s hope that in
real life, it’s the same
as in fiction.

Let’s all hope that
the bad guys don’t
win.

In Context by Ian Lewis Copestick

In Context

As you get older,
one of the many
things you learn
is that certain
things only work
as being cool in
a certain context.
When I was in my
teens a ‘Head ‘ shop
opened in my town.
This meant that it
sold vintage ’60’s, and
’70’s clothes. I went
and bought a really
loud silk shirt, it was
almost exactly the
same as the one that
Bob Dylan was wearing
on the cover of ” Highway
61 Revisited “. I thought
it was the coolest thing
ever.
But context, yes context.
In 1960’s New York, being
worn by Bob Dylan it was
cool.
In 1980’s Stoke On Trent,
being worn by a spotty,
ginger haired 15 year old.
Well, what do you think ?
Everyone laughed at me,
and I do mean everyone.
But, at least I learned
a valuable lesson…
And I thank God that I
couldn’t afford the
leather trousers.

Two Poems from Ian Lewis Copestick

Not Fair

If there’s one thing
that’s just not fair,
it’s seeing someone
you really care
about being used
like a fancy wank,
by some dick who’s
thicker than two
short planks.
But, she wouldn’t
look at you twice,
so what’s the point
in trying to be nice.
Just forget about it
have another drink,
and another joint,
try not to think.

       Shadow People From
        Strange Dimension
s

I’d forgotten the fear
of walking home in the
dark. But it doesn’t take
long for my old friend,
paranoia to reacquaint
itself. A jogger just ran
past me, dressed all in
black. I nearly had a
heart attack and changed
the colour of my trousers.
I guess that all of the so
called ‘paranormal ‘ clips
I’ve been watching on
YouTube aren’t helping
much either.
I don’t believe in ghosts,
but there’s something
freaky going on. Even if
it’s just the amount of
hoaxers out there. I
particularly love the
‘shadow people’, they
scare the shit out of me.
So I try to keep my eyes
on the ground of the
dark, creepy country
paths that are my route
to get home.
Screw the shadow people,
from strange dimensions.
I’m hungry, and I want my
tea !

Surroundings by Ian Lewis Copestick

Surroundings

A dark, damp Sunday evening,
it’s not raining now, but my
coat and shoes still feel soggy
from earlier. These dark nights
may have only just kicked in
for this year, but somehow it
feels like summer was just a
two minute ad break between
the programmes of darkness.
I roll, then light a cigarette, at
least it’s dry and I’m able to do  that. I blow out the smoke to
temporarily blur my view of
deep purple sky, dark green  grass, and the ugly grey  concrete of pavement and  road. Never believe people  who’ll tell you that your  surroundings don’t influence  the way that you feel.
I feel like;
deep purple,
dark green, and
ugly, ugly grey.

Can’t Help But Care by Ian Lewis Copestick

Can’t Help But Care


Sometimes I wonder
why do I bother ?
You can’t seem to
please anyone, any
of the time. Why not
just say ” Fuck ’em all “
and live for yourself.
Never worry about
anybody else at all.
But, it’s not in my
nature, I can’t be that
selfish. You have to
share this world with
other people, and I can’t
help but care. Sometimes
I wish that I could,
but it’s just not in me.
I’m too much of a softie
to turn my back on
them all.

The Suburbs by Ian Lewis Copestick

The Suburbs

Private places,
privet hedges
green lawns,
and total, total
boredom. Grey
skies, identical
houses, hidden
secrets, and
desires. The
suburbs are
terrifying, nothing
is out in the open.
Not upsetting the
neighbours is the
most important
thing in life. I hate
the suburbs, and I
love them. They are
the only thing I’ve
ever known. I truly
believe that there’s
more evil, more lurid
tales, and more sick
crimes happening in
the suburbs than in
the inner city. The
suburbs are where
the criminals move
to when they’ve made
a bit of money. Nobody
looks over their hedges
so no one sees a bloody
thing.

£10 per day by Ian Lewis Copestick

£10 per day


The world seems
like a horrible, harsh
place when you’ve
only just received
two weeks worth of
benefits, and already
you are broke. All I
get is £10 per day,
if you’re from a
country where you
don’t receive a thing,
this may seem like a
lot of money. But,
when it’s all you’ve
got to feed, clothe
yourself, keep yourself
warm. Buy deodorant,
shaving foam, razors,
shower gel, shoes, and
all the other little things
that you don’t think of.
Then you realise, it’s
nothing at all. I’ve paid
at least, thirty years
of income tax, so I
reckon that they must
owe me something.
I never asked them to
spend it on nuclear
weapons, or illegal
wars. So, the way I
see it, they owe me
a lot more than
£10 per day. At
least enough to reasonably live on.

No One Escapes by Ian Lewis Copestick

No One Escapes

I’m walking past the local
Minimart, about six feet in
front of me is a car with
loud, but cheesy hip hop
blaring out. Dope smoke is
pouring out of the windows.
In the driver’s seat, I see a
real, fucking dickhead. He
only looks like a teenager,
but he gives me a filthy look.
He’s trying to stare me out.
I see a very young, dyed
blonde girl in the shotgun
seat, and two teenage
lads in the back.
I think, ” There’s three of
them, only one of me. “
So I avert my stare from
his.
Three, or four steps on, I
begin to feel shame, or guilt.
Whatever it is, so I turn, stare
him straight in the eye until
he looks away.
But, we both know that he
won. I was the first one to
look away.
Not only did I look away
first, but I’m nearly 50
I bet he isn’t even 20.
So I’ve lost in every way
that I possibly can.
Oh well, it’ll happen to
him too.
No one escapes

The Big Job by Ian Lewis Copestick

The Big Job

Well, I’ve got my gang
I’ve got my sawn off
I’ve got my plans
They’re all drawn up
I know the day
I know the time
When the benefits are paid
When the money arrives
We’ve got a van we stole
About a month ago
Hidden in a lock up
That nobody knows
The chassis number has
Been ground away
Now it cones around
It’s our pay day
We’ve got a Merc, a B.M.W.
A Golf G.T.I.
If it comes on top
We’ve got to fly
You gotta keep every
Piece screwed down
You wouldn’t believe the
Grasses in this town
Every guy who supplies
You with a motor
You can’t let them know
What it’s gonna be used for
Or else he’s giving it the big
man in all the pubs
And you might as well
Just give up.
All the stress builds and builds
Too much and it can make you ill
I can’t let my plans screw up
Spent too long planning this job
I can’t take another stretch inside
I’d top myself first, just from pride
My wife would disown me too
By the time I got out
The kids would be leaving school
I can’t let this job go wrong
I’m the big man, I gotta be strong

Well, today’s the day
My bowels are loose
I’ve got the shooters
And the boiler suits
The ski masks and latex gloves
Are in the B.M.’s boot
I don’t want to, but if
I have to I’ll shoot.

Now it’s 12 hours later
And I’m on the run
Dumped the boiler suits, ski
Masks and most of the guns
The Golf G.T.I., well
It just broke down
There’s two security guards
In the hospital down town
I don’t dare think about
My missus and kids
I don’t want to think about
What we just did
When shotgun pellets
Hit human skin
The blood and flesh flies
Your Head it spins
I know the pigs are
Hot on my trail
I can’t face another
10 years in jail
I put the sawn off
Shotgun to my lips
I hear a police loud hailer
And my finger slips

Nitrous Oxide by Ian Lewis Copestick

Nitrous Oxide

Everywhere I go I
see tiny, empty gas
canisters lying in
the gutter. They look
like the ones that my
uncle used to put the
fizz into his home-brewed
lager, except they were
green, where these
ones are bright silver.
Someone told me
that they are laughing
gas canisters.
Apparently, nitrous
oxide is the latest cool
drug for hipsters to
take. Where they buy
it from, or how they
use it, I do not know.
But, for all of these
two, or three inch
long silver tin things
that I keep seeing
everywhere, I never
seem to see anyone
laughing.