Brunch; could it be any other way?
Personally, my favourite mash-up-meal-time is lafternoon tea.
Nothing like a good giggle while quaffing piles of little triangle sandwiches and chunky slices of cake.
All washed down with copious lashings of Rosie, of course. Continue reading
Fuck it. I’ve started digging at people now, so might as well carry on. Besides, it would hardly be fair to pick on just one section of society when they feel lonely and isolated enough as is.
This particular swipe is at those who think Zen is a nice haircut or pair of shoes, expensive car or monster TV; they who claim understanding of science and Evolution, but then invoke karma all over social media when feeling wronged – who do they think’s pulling the cogs of universal fairness then: Continue reading
According to punks of the 70s, the advent of something like the internet meant we’d all be living in an Anarchy Utopia by 2018.
But we’re not, we here with Donald Trump in charge of America, Johnny Rotten selling butter and David Attenborough not even a vegetarian.
What went wrong; is punk dead?
No, cos here’s some punk poetry right f-ing here instead!
People love giving themselves labels like ‘nice‘, but rarely have the same enthusiasm for being bedfellows with the implications.
Atheists say there is no contradiction in being so and moral.
But do they really consider what it is to be moral without God as original ethical catalyst? Continue reading
Not being able to hold one’s beer can be disastrous.
It can have a negative impact on social standing and reputation, even make a laughing stock of to whatever gender one likes to stick things in or have things stuck in by; maybe it’s a two-way street of insertions – it’s not for me to make judgements, cast any assertions. Continue reading
Everything needed to know in under one-hundred and twenty-five words. Continue reading
Welcome to a world of anxiety, anger and insecurity; a place where Abandonment Issues rule the day unknown.
Whether a first time visitor or previous—maybe even current—resident, The Medusa Protocol hopes to show as much as relate and commiserate.
More cat protest poetry. Though it’s futile, they never listen – no matter how many times I read it over and over to them in the hope some of it will get through.
But imagine if it did – what then? What if through the power of poetry I could get them to change some of their more unfavourable habits and going-ons?
I’d be in the highest demand, hailed poet laurecat!
Don’t panic: it’s not yet another gratuitous foodie blog about eating every possible living thing just cos whatever. Though some might wish it was once they see what I’ve got cooking in this week’s big pot of poetry.
