Poetry: Inner City Blues by Ian Copestick

Let me take you down To the lonely part of town Where the light grows dim at the end of the day When the sun goes down The strangers frown And the paranoia just won’t go away   Where the homeless sleep The broken hearted weep And love and life always go wrong Where morals…

Poetry: What is punk ? by Ian Copestick

I’ve just seen a question on a Website, ” What is punk ? ” Well, it’s not an easy question To answer. Of course it’s some Of the best Rock-‘n’-Roll ever Made, but it’s also an attitude, A way of life. It’s as subjective as ” What is Art ? ” But, to me it…

Poetry: Homeless And Hungry by Ian Copstick

Nearly half the shops are boarded up The homeless, wrapped in dirty blankets Lay down in shop doorways ” Any spare change, please mate ? ” Is the biggest hit of the season At least it’s the most popular refrain You must hear it 20 times a day But it’s only in the last 10…

Poetry: A Lesson Well Learned by Ian Copestick

  A Lesson Well Learned How can it be ? How come it’s not me ? The universe just isn’t fair I learned that at sixteen All the nights I lay awake Fantasising how I’d tell her Just how much I loved her And she’d fall into my arms And it would be happily Ever…

Poetry: U.F.O.’s Come Get Me by Ian Copestick

Oh, U.F.O.’s come get me Take me away from this planet I’ve tried everything it’s got to offer And none of it’s enough Not enough joy Not enough sorrow Not enough insanity I’ve drank all I can Taken all of the drugs But it’s not enough for me I’ve had the sex I’ve been in…

Poetry: Painted Horses by Eoghan Lyng

A parvenu paints prettily, Poetically placing the ponies Pedestrianised. Pontified.   She smokes scantily, scarily Scanning the scales of the horses Sanctified. Socialised.   Two riders together Tearing the lands responses, Lovers who once were Eternally sure. Stood on their floors. Mared and married together.   Heaving hagriophies harnessed heavily, Handling hearsays and heresies harboured,…

Poetry: My Motorbike by Ian Copestick

  My wife often asks me ; ” Why do you feel the need to Write so often ?  Every day You sit there, tapping away. ” Well, if you had, say for Example, a huge, fast Motorbike. It didn’t cost you A penny to ride it, and no Matter what hair-raising Stunts you did…

Poetry: Lucky Strike by John Patrick Robbins

There is nothing more appealing the bad habits and long hours spent alone creating them. I paid every due, and now saw more troubles with new pleasures arise by the second.   I still remained a social outcast. I didn’t run after approval but I didn’t shy away from the attention either.   Praise much…

Poetry: Tommy Gun Blues by Fred Shrum, III

Tommy Gun Blues  I can’t stay in I can’t get out My heart is so hard My tears become drought Your life is in my hands But who holds mine My rivers flow with blood I am stranded in time From across the gaping void The light becomes clear You realize with a start There…