Zombie Zombie Zombie!

Yes, that’s right, Halloween’s coming, so it’s time to talk zombies… And the value for money in this post is incredible. Not one, but two, yes a whole two!, zombie items to share!

First up is a plug… long time readers may remember an A to Z challenge I completed some time ago, on the theme of surviving the zombie holocaust…in haiku form… Well, I’ve written a bunch of new ones and collected them all together, and will be publishing these on Amazon IMMINENTLY (ie when I get a spare few hours in the next week) as … THE HAIKU OF THE DEAD….

Here’s the cover reveal, for those who like that sort of thing…

And to whet your appetite for all things zombie, here is a NEW zombie poem. Over a few drinks in a bar, I joked to some fellow poets that most of my stuff in my first collection was either about cats or zombies… so they challenged me to write about zombie cats… This was the result. I hope you like it. 🙂

Zombie Pet Store

Went down to the zombie pet store
To pick myself a pet
(There’s not the widest choice of these,
So you take what you can get)

A zombie goldfish seemed too lame:
I wanted something cooler!
Some creature that could scare my sis,
Lure her in and fool her…

A zombie guinea pig could be fun
With their amped-up feral nature.
As long as it’s fed some daily flesh,
It’s never gonna hate ya…

Or a zombie hamster spinning ‘round
Within its blood-stained wheel?
Perhaps a zombie bunny
Trying to make you its next meal?

Zombie dogs are a big no-go:
Too strong to be man’s best friend.
Even with a muzzle on,
Spot will eat you, in the end.

But zombie cats? That’s where it’s at,
On this, can we agree?
They’ve the same sense of superiority
And indifference to humanity

Although the purring and the miaowing
Is now more like …growling
After brutal night-time killing sprees,
There’s the same old midnight howling!

So, it’s time to make your choice:
Buying a zom-pet is no game.
But whether a cat’s alive or undead,
Its behaviour’s just the same!

The Mankini…

This is possibly the poem I am most (in)famous for, here in Nottingham… I’ve included the video of me performing this at the Jam Cafe earlier this month too 🙂

HALLOWEEN HORROR!

It started as a joke
Then grew into a dare
It *may* have been the alcohol
When I agreed to wear
… the mankini

Now, for those who do not know,
A mankini’s quite the thing
(Picture me in a posing pouch
Pulled up tight with bright green string)

My abs are long since absent
The six pack’s more a barrel
And without getting into fat shaming
There’s too much padding in this saddle
… the mankini

It barely hides my wedding tackle
But bares the rest for all
All this hairy flesh, all this…
And an unmanly spread … of balls

You see, I’ll never be a swordsman
No Don Juan legendary lover.
If your body’s a lethal weapon,
I’m more like Danny Glover.

But a dare’s a dare and that’s that
You’ve got to live by a code.
Well, you’ve got to tell yourself something
When your ass cheeks are on show…

So, a distinctive Halloween outfit…
But it’s not easy trick or treating
On a cold, dark night in autumn
With cock and balls retreating!

 

Liked this? Why not treat yourself to a copy of a whole book! https://www.ebay.co.uk/itm/192658522744 

Toothpaste

This is the real reason kids should put the lid back on the toothpaste:

When you’ve carefully brushed your teeth,
Put the lid back on the paste.
This isn’t to stop it drying out…
It’s because spiders love the taste!

Golden Shovel, after Charles Simic “Watermelons”

A golden shovel takes an existing short poem, and uses every word as the end of each line for a new poem

Watermelons, by Charles Simic

Green Buddha
On the fruit stand.
We eat the smile
And spit out the teeth.

Golden Shovel, after Charles Simic “Watermelons”
I lazed on the lawn, summer green
Calm and peaceful, an urban Buddha
Eyes closed, nothing on
My mind, just enjoying the
Moment, this day, this sun, the fruit
Of nature. Feeling its rays, I stand,
Arise without thinking, realising we
Are one; nature, earth, people; we eat
Of the soil and feed the
Soil; reaping what we sow, every smile
Breeding a dozen more, joy spreading and
Growing, an infection of hope that spits
On salty pavements, letting out
The poison of doubt, and the
Self-constraints of “can’t”, through newly-revealed teeth.

Alistair Lane performing at The Maze…

YouTube

For those who hadn’t already noticed through other channels, I’ve put a couple of videos of my poetry performances up on YouTube, and have more to drip-feed out over the coming weeks.

I’d really appreciate it if you could check them out, maybe even subscribe to follow me on YouTube… if you like it, feel free to share!

This is the latest one I’ve uploaded. It’s my first ever live performance (aww!), at a Crosswords night in a cave in Nottingham (still my favourite place to perform). The first poem, Memory, has been rewritten substantially since this performance… one of the benefits of testing material in front of an audience. Hope you enjoy 🙂

 

Alternatively, you can subscribe here

Thank you!

 

 

Pets and their owners

They say that pets look like their owners… This is called “my cat’s a sexy motherf*cker”

Your dachshund may be a darling
And your terrier drive a truck
You may think your pet’s amazing…
But mine’s as sexy as f*ck

So your gerbil’s got some game
And your schnauzer isn’t a schmuck
Your pets each have their qualities…
Mine’s as sexy as f*ck

You may really dig your degu
Think your Pekinese is full of pluck
I couldn’t be any happier for you…
But mine’s as sexy as f*ck

Your ferret may bring you good fortune
And your black cat carry good luck
I’ve won the bloody lottery, mate…
‘cause mine’s as sexy as F*CK!

My cat, this afternoon

 

Grampy

A poem about my Grandfather – “Grampy” – written for and performed at the Nottingham Poetry Festival, at the Crosswords Sue Ryder open mic night. I’ve attached the recording below on YouTube, with another poem from last night too. I’d love it if you checked it out 😀

Grampy died when I was young.
Young enough to remember,
but not old enough to know him.

He was a baker by trade, always
bringing oven-warm buns,
the three minute walk back to
his front door.

He’d served in North Africa
in the Second World War.
This utterly fascinated me,
the reality of war.
The notion of “service”. The grit.
But we never spoke of it.

The closest we came was him buying me
“Commando” magazine from the newsagents,
next to the bakers. Those pocket booklets of
heroism, jingoism. Derring do. Reality
safely sanitised into periodic pieces
where the good guys always win.

I never really cared for them –
I preferred when he
bought me “Buster” comics –
but I never told him that.
He thought I’d like them,
so he bought them for me.
Maybe he wanted to say more.
I wanted him to say more.
But he never did.

The cancer
ate through him
In those final days.
A Brylcreem skeleton.
A shadow of sallow skin,
sunk in his favourite chair.
Unable to manage even that
short walk to the newsagents,
now knocked through into the
bakery, selling undertaxed coffee.

No more Commando magazines.
No more unspoken words.

No Cat Puns

There are no cat puns in this poem,
No feline phrases flowing.

Don’t have kittens with anxiety:
That would be a cat-astrophe

This poem is far from purr-fect

 

Last Christmas

With apologies to George Michael…

Last Christmas, I gave you my heart
You bought me a Lynx deodorant gift set from Boots, £4.99.

I’m not a materialist
But that feels a little one-sided to me.

I don’t even like Lynx.

 

 

Merry Christmas!

Halloween HORROR!

Happy Halloween everyone! The poem below carries a huge health warning…once read, it cannot be unread. The images it will leave you with cannot be wiped (a score of witnesses will testify to this)… If you are easily offended, or have any ounce of self-respect, taste or decency, DO NOT READ ON! You have been warned!

It started as a joke
Then grew into a dare
It *may* have been the alcohol
When I agreed to wear
… the mankini

Now, for those who do not know,
A mankini’s quite the thing
(Picture me in a posing pouch
Pulled up tight with bright green string)

My abs are long since absent
The six pack’s more a barrel
And without getting into fat shaming
There’s too much padding in this saddle

… the mankini
…It barely hides my wedding tackle
But bares the rest for all
All this hairy flesh, all this…
And an unmanly spread of balls

You see, I’ll never be a swordsman
No Don Juan legendary lover.
If your body’s a lethal weapon,
I’m more like Danny Glover.

But a dare’s a dare and that’s that
You’ve got to live by a code.
Well, you’ve got to tell yourself something
When your ass cheeks are on show…

So, a distinctive Halloween outfit…
But it’s not easy trick or treating
On a cold, dark night in autumn
With cock and balls retreating!