Group collective nouns.

A fringe of emos.
A curl of indies.
A wall of bouncers.
A quiver of models.
A quench of tourists.
A bibble of morons.
A bale of nonces.
A litter of hairdressers.
A chunk of fatties.
A throng of coppers.
A pint of drunks.
A coven of sluts.
A bugger of tramps.
A stench of students.
A gaggle of twats.
A snap of teens.
A flood of fans.
A moider of Italian crows.
A thunk of geeks.
A bless of idiots.
A cloud of fashion students.
A doom of art teachers.
A haze of smokers.
A Chiswick of wankers.
A mince of male dance students.
A flock of cunts.
A loiter of chavs.

You know the one.

Not like all the other ones, she twists in the wind, goes with the flow, fluid. Ink in water. Smoke and spiral fingers of golden mane. Blue window eyes, too blue for paint or words, inhuman, angelic. Wrists thick with collected bracelets, hands busy at the keys.
Thick and red, framing well planned words, hiding pearly biters, holding hand rolled cigarettes, gentle at the tea cup, lips atuned to smiling. All technicolour cotton on pretty bronze, lying in and holding tight. A shiny thing, my secret, my tinkerbell.

the commuter

Collapsed on weathered tiles,
it's nearly breaking dawn,
after endless neon miles,
of tunnels under ground,
stuffy air recycled,
sweating bodies all crammed in,
pressing at the windows,
coal black and paper thin,
grabbing at the handles,
swaying, all in time,
regular as clockwork,
as mice play on the line,
uncomfortably quiet,
must be nearly home,
same again tomorrow,
with all the other drones.

Your know youre quite a beauty,
Now that I must deny,
Because your hairy forearm,
Is thicker than my thigh.
Your body is a temple,
They're at least alike in size,
Breakfast, lunch and dinner,
Don't all have to be pies,
Your mind is like a diamond,
On some fat ladies ring,
A useless decoration,
On such an ugly thing.
Your eyes are deep as oceans,
When reading the small print,
I know when you are thinking,
Because you have to squint.
Your hair is smooth and shiny,
Just like your greasy face,
The only real problem,
Is it grows in the wrong place.
Your lips are two red blossoms,
Left out to go all dry,
This poem works much better,
If you only read these lines;
1 - 5 - 9 - 13 - 17 - 21

Dragons

They numbered in the hundreds,
In ages long ago,
But one by one we killed them,
Our fire breathing foes.

They still exist I've seen them,
Hiding in the trees,
With skin in many colours,
But most of them are green.

You should not go looking,
For Draco in the woods,
Lest you end up eaten,
And disappeared for good.

One day they will waken,
Remember how to fly,
They'll burn the place to cinders,
And then take back the sky.

Haiku, word origami.

five sounds on this line
but then this one has seven
then we're back to five

could it be the time
to buy a brand new wristwatch
you may never know

remember the one
who gave you morning coffee
welcome to starbucks

Each drop of their blood
that lands on the sand lowers
the price of our oil.

You read in the news
things that have happened elsewhere
it's not your concern.

People are quite strange
sometimes they don't remember
we are all the same.

Kharasment...

She re-lives moments in her head,
All bleary eyed wrapped up in bed,
Hugs her pillow with tear filled eyes,
And waits for him to realise,
That losing her was not that smart,
She hopes he has a broken heart,
But tears will dry and pain subside,
She'll wonder why it was she cried,
Get drunk with mates and have a laugh,
content that she's her other half,
Her cheeks might hurt its been a while,
since her face has cracked a smile,
Getting smashed with bestest brers,
Falling down, apples an' pears,
She stands back up, fingers crossed,
It's better to have loved and lost.
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