Tag Archives: poetry



I went to a zoo.
I was torn in two.

I had to write a haiku.

You see animals
You don’t see in the wild.
Here you see their tears.

Then I realised perhaps it’s not feasible to deal with such a complex issue in so few syllables.

Oh well. Too late.


Martin x

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Supermarket shrine
Where your walking is doing
Video game life.

Easy to lose you.
Twisting roads, no signs, no names
But here I found you.


Martin xx


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A lot happened today.
Cultural, life…
I suppose the cultural things were 3 galleries.
We don’t do things by halves.
Tho perhaps we should do things in more detail.
Gagosian: Some words: Protuberances (is that a word?)
Hus: Some words: leathery, church, knives
Crypt: Dark, church, flesh
There are lots of galleries called the crypt.
We stumbled on another.
I can’t be bothered to tell u about it.
I can’t be bothered to remember the names of the artists.
If you’re that interested.
Im guessing we weren’t.
We also went to Regents Park but couldn’t be bothered with the art thing because we wanted to sit on a bench and look at our pretentious art BOOK.
Bought some sonnets for tomorrow…
Had a nice tea with my nice friend Paul.
Lates at Wellcome… I’m tempted to talk about body parts but I have to be careful.
Sometimes if you do lots of things you are too tired to blog about them properly.
Sorry to waste your time.




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Doggy let me do this too…


Tate modern blackouts, little sun, olafur eliasson, poetry and dream.

Solar powered surrealism.*

I liked it best cos you could chat people up asking for their light.

Almost like smoking cool but without the cancer.

Other people seemed “oo its dark” happy but I dont think other people were enjoying it q as much as me.

I was getting in a pickle trying to take shadow pix.

But loving it.

Theyre on the wondrous instagram which has been a life saver.

Now @thedogwhatblogs holds the purse strings…

Notionally free but u had to buy the little lamp for the equivalent of three trips to Haringey Borough FC.

But it beats taking pix of old men.




I wanted her on the left slightly…

*he asked me to provide more detail. Its like a torch round ur neck right and they turned the lights off in the gallery. Jeesh.


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If you like watching car crashes…


Youve come to the right place.


This evening is called: 'Saturday Soapbox.'

It is at the Poetry Cafe.

It is poetry and comedy.

It is three pounds.

And for that you get insulted for free.

Usually the boy wonder gets bullied at these events but he was looking suitably depressed and aloof to deflect.

Heres a boo….


You can literally stand up in London and do anything or nothing and people will watch.

Heres a boo…

You had to be there.






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Im going to let @albiestar do this review, its more his cup of tea, but if he does a cock pun let me know…

Or if he uses the phrase “brutally honest” i will also need to restrain him…

On a lead.




Brutally honest is the phrase that springs to mind when reviewing ‘Wasted’ at the Camden Roundhouse.

It was theatre, it was rap, it was poetry it was multimedia it was on the button in a crushingly hilariously depressing way.

Some seriously massive laugh lines definately there…

“adjectives instead of names”

“swallowed a planetarium”

And “smells of custard creams” gave me some biggesteverlaughs which was helpful in a play that was too honest for words.

We like to bang on here about “short is good” too.

Concisely, economically, pointedly powerfull… Unlike that sentence.

As @thedogwhatblogs would say: Some words: drunk, teacher, life, hilltop, lights, brazen, hilarious, freedom, responsibilities, dreams, being crap, relationships oh and…

“breathtakingly honest”

Bung that on a poster.


Dont call us colin, dont call us…




Ps we really really really liked how they came on at acted surprised to see the audience. Sweet.


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