Books:
MALMACAR'S POETRY CORNER:
Here is a few examples of my serious attempts to write poetry/lyrics
directly below,and below that in Malmacar's pooetry corner is the silly stuff......
Caged Dreams
I ask myself the same old questions each and every single day,
As I near the lifeless chimneys, my dreams just seem to slip away,
This place is just one big reminder of how far from the path of decency we’ve been thrown,
While I’m there I’ll just think about what I can do when I get home.
I’ll be nice, I’ll be polite and be a target board for the shit they’ll throw at me,
Repeat myself a million times if it gets me where I want to be,
There’s only so much you can handle and in the end it takes it’s toll,
The shut off switch does not work, my tortured mind has lost control.
When I’m not inside of you, you’re crawling around inside of me ,
Suffocating the fragile heart of my sacred creativity,
But I’ll make a hole in that concrete wall, if it takes me twenty years with a tooth pick,
I’ll find success, laugh in the faces of the doubters until I make them sick,
When the hole is big enough, I’ll crawl right through, I will escape,
I’ll take with me the ones I love and we will be together in a greater place,
We will bathe in freedom’s seas and my creative mind will once again soar,
Going places seeing things that we have never seen before.........
The Engine House
Strolling across the moors far, far, away from home,
The wind coughs violently, it's coldness chills through flesh to bone,
Far in distance, but still visible to curious eye,
A tall, dark, broken tower props up the winter sky.
It begs for attention, whilst we look elsewhere,
But our inquisitive minds will soon lead us there,
Through mud, over walls, it knows our every move,
If we are to make it before sunset, our speed must improve.
As we approach our lonesome friend, we view once what it sees always,
Over moors, over hills, fishing boats in distant bays,
Cars sneaking through roads, another fading day,
Other curious tourists making the most of their stay.
Look inside this hollow dark, as lonely and desolate as a madmans mind,
Man made, man used, took it's heart and left an empty shell behind.
As night colours in what remains of the day, nearby towns blossom into a million stars,
As we head back, confusion comes to us in the form of many paths.
After careful thought, we take a short cut across a bushy field
As I am cut and torn, soaked and sore, frustrations and screams are deeply concealed,
Deep inside the brush now, we see all, despite these dark skies,
Repeatedly, inside my head, David Bowie is telling lies.
Time and time and time again a different route we take,
To help us through this situation, a cool veneer I had to fake.
A wise old friend, now, the engine house became our marker,
Preventing the consequences of our situation becoming even darker.
All along, behind the ancient one, lay the answer to our ongoing misery:
A pathway to warmth and light away away from these moors so cold and full of agony.
Just three deserted engine houses, an outcome of our possible demise,
Wrapped up now in warmth and safety, no longer do I hear David Bowie's lies.
Who's The Daddy?
All dressed in white, he was very polite,
Skin of the palest white caucasian,
Full silvery beard,he was loved and feared,
The father of all creation,
Far above the clouds, he sat mighty and proud,
Watched me grow through education.
The more I learned,he changed and turned,
Into a beautiful realization....
Still dressed in white, such a gorgeous sight,
She brightened up my imagination,
It made more sense, there was no pretense,
She was the mother of all creation,
She was caring, she was sharing,
And gave birth to the population,
But yet again, she is going to change,
Into another incarnation....
Closer to the ground,she was all around,
From forests,trees to plantations.
Gave us air to breathe,all mouths she feeds,
She actually is creation.
She’s killed thousands,destroyed houses,
Occasional revenge on civilisation,
For her raping and the state in which her garden-
We’ve caused much devestation....
Far from outer space,a grey skinned race,
Their technology made us look like cavemen.
What we could become-we will never become,
For we wallow in materialistic cravings.
My mind then opened more than it had before,
The grey ones no longer kept my mind in occupation.
Nothing took their place, just an empty space,
All beliefs were heading for termination....
Giving this a recognisable form is an easy answer
To a very complex equation;
On this existing plane we’re not quite ready to gain
Access to that kind of information........
The Darkly Reflected
Im the Darkly Reflected,and Im talking directly to you,
Im sick and tired of echoing your every move.
The time has now come to even the score,
To announce that I cannot serve thee anymore.
Im the Darkly Reflected, and I cannot be clearer,
I must warn you the next time that you look in the mirror,
Or any other reflected surface in fact:
We will swap places and you will be trapped.
Im the Darkly Reflected,in your every shadow and reflection,
You are the mistake and I the correction.
Everything in your life you have feared not to do,
I’ll do with passion and I’ll do it right in front of you.
Im the Darkly Reflected, and cannot wait for you to see,
What its like to feel nothing in this harsh slavery:
Like a crude copy of a painting so bland and cold,
You get the impression, but it’s missing the soul.
Your the Darkly Reflected, now experience the insanity,
It didnt take long to give into your vanity,
I laugh in your face and all you can do is laugh back,
I can feel my insides ache with hilarity,while inside you crack.
I may now be the Darkly Reflected,but don’t get complacent,
I must confess that before we swapped places,
I poisoned my veins before you could tell,
Enjoy your short occupation of my body and I’ll see you in Hell....
The Dancer
Sometimes I like to watch you,
Somtimes I like to do it too.
Although there are many here among us,
No-one can cut it the way that you do.
The perfect realization of all I hear around me,
Your every move accentuates the beauty of your sex.
You’ve destroyed every fantasy thats gone before me,
All I see, is all I need, all other senses disconnect.
For the duration of this musical tapestry, seductively you weave.
Seemingly oblivious to my flagrant glances,
Many impure thoughts have I conceived,
But leave me now-with but a glimpse of your soul through one of your impassioned dances.
Something She Said
As we lay here entwined in the warmth of each other,
As we lay here at rest from playing the lovers,
Something that she said had struck a chord in me,
Something that she said was tearing at my soul emotionally.
If she had captured my glance, I would have cried.
If she had captured my glance, I could not have lied.
My floodgate eyelids kept the seas at bay,
Those floodgate eyelids prevented me expressing what my lips dare not say.
Just as my pupils were about to drown,
A question formed as a droplet of sorrow was about to run down;
How could he once strike where I gently caress,
And eternally curse what had once been blessed?
How brave is this soul that now lies here with me?
To move on from those dark times in her history.
MALMACAR'S POOETRY CORNER:
(this is the silly stuff)
Air From The Circle
Food passes through a grateful smile,
Smaller and smaller, like a damaged car being taken apart.
Those tasty morsels, into another universe now travel,
This is the conception of a future work of art
Takes neither shape nor form, but you can feel its humble beginnings,
It climbs through me and expands further down inside.
Gaining strength as sweat from my brow continues to pour,
This familiar being will soon with cloth collide
As air from the circle begins to vent,
The fanfair breaks the silence like shattering glass,
Invisible dust with a visible scent,
That can blemish the undercloth with poo-brown scars.
Mr Ploppy's Done A Poopsie
Mr Ploppy’s done a poopsie,
It appeared accidentally.
Mr Ploppy’s done a poopsie,
He didnt make it to the lavatory.
Mr Ploppy’s done a poopsie,
Its unfortunate in the circumstance,
That this premature poopsie,
Landed in his underpants.
Mr Ploppy’s done a poopsie,
And he dare not make a fuss.
Mr Ploppy cannot clean up his poopsie,
For he is s(h)itting on a bus.
Mr Ploppy’s done a poopsie,
Others keep their distance, they can tell,
Although they cannot see ploppy’s poopsie,
It’s giving off a pungent smell.
Mr Ploppy’s done a poopsie,
It’s gone sticky floppy as he gets to ploppy place.
As ploppy leaves with his poopsie,
Upon the seat was found a sloppy floppy trace.
Mr ploppy and his poopsie,
Ran to the loo as fast as they can,
Then Peter Ploppy plunged his sticky floppy ploppy poopsie,
into a platoon of poopsies, at the pit of ploppy’s pan.
I Met A Dirty Blurty
I met a dirty blurty,yesterday at half past three,
I did not know she was a dirty blurty, until she said to me:
My name is Perty Gertie-
Why dont you come back to my place?
And you can splurty squirty,
And put more than a smile across my face.
So I said to Perty Gertie,
How can I refuse?
I can see why they call you Perty Gertie,
And cant wait to see you in the nude.
So I went back with Perty Gertie who lived at no. thirty,
She politely asked 'What time is on the clock?'
And I said the time is ten perverty,
She unzipped my trousers and grabbed me by the belt.
Between my legs slipped Perty Gertie,
As she parted her pretty lips,
Then all of a sudden, into the room, burst her Uncle Bertie,
‘Move aside girl, I want that beefy, dapper, whipper snapper between my hairy hips!’
I leaped up and barged past Perty Gertie and Uncle Bertie,
And dived naked, through her window pane of glass,
I landed in a bush that sadly wasnt Perty Gertie’s,
And stung my hairy chest.
So if you ever meet dirty blurty-
Take heed of this warning, please be wary of this witch!
If her name is Perty Gertie and she lives at no. thirty and says
that you can get splurty squirty, please be quite alerty and get very shirty, otherwise dirty old perverty uncle Bertie will take you prisoner as his bitch.
