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!
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
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!
Me-me-me. That’s all this is about. No one else. Just me as I take a deep delve into the self for a candid, honest and heartfelt look at both my good and bad sides. Which one had hold of me at the time of writing – you decide!
About that way older people always seem when looking at them from a young perspective, then catching up a bit and realising the grotesque reality.
A poem possibly about indecision more than anything else.
The inspiration for this poem speaks for itself. Good thing, as I’ve no intention of ever mentioning it again.