Archive for now-

The Masked Offender versus Le Pen

Posted in poetry with tags , , , on February 28, 2018 by malartart

                                                             Whose gonna win?

                                                      Time to vote for who cares most

                                            But I’m too busy learning Jedi skills

                              Cosplay’s on straight but my politics are wonky

                My polybags are airtight unlike the gains of the day

         Unopened action figures sealed like our fate

                Pop culture versus my kid’s future

                       Near mint but what does the CBG rate it?

They are famous

They are familiar

They are friendly

For a fascist in a mask

They are terrorists

They are terrified

They tend to time out

Like task masters with no tasks

They are powerless

They are paralyzed

They are peeled from the path

As pacifists pass out tributes to paradise

Tapping on the tip of the tongue—

What is the definition of This Right Now?


2 Forward, 3 Back

Posted in poetry with tags , , on June 10, 2017 by malartart

                  documents leaked

        mopped up deceit

tell on me

             talk liberally

speak formally

            behind shirt sleeves

  converse conservatively

                        know your place


             labour under

                         the misapprehension

              of moving to the centre



Virtual Vultures

Posted in poetry with tags , , , , on March 27, 2017 by malartart

The lamb only learns when it is loved from a distance

When cradled in arms, feeling cranky to calm

-Zyklon B to embalmed-

It forgets that it knows it ever existed in an instant

I don’t know who I am

I don’t where this is

I don’t know who you all are

But I’m beginning get the gist

I believe finite memory is more

And timeless is less

The mundane middle of Monday

Is where Friday finishes with a written test

But it’s a vexing mess that has no respect

Turns up ending with a blood splattered rest

I am my own Ministry of Militia

A bible basher with a bulletproof vest

Putting words together in new found forms

More real than reality itself

Stravinsky’s riot did me proud

M.C.’s bread is dipped in some funky mould

How dare you sow the seeds of the apocalypse!!

That’s the last job on my to-do list

Wasabi’s buck shot peppering, splits open new tins of green paint

Spraying nuance and subtly

Over a canvas of obviousness

Unique, original and never seen before

Are the curse words of the new generation

Picking like a virtual vulture over past digital corpses

So, gimme sum theeng new


Just leave me hangin’

Take a leap of faith with the future of us all

Or just

Bang the final nail into my compos mentis coffin

An English Gothic Heart Beating For None, Counting To None

Posted in poetry with tags , , , on November 29, 2015 by malartart


let them in!  let them in!

no need to float and scratch

the window’s been left upon the latch

a wide door is open to them  all

yet they struggle to walk upon the salted floor

we break garlic bread with them in public places

and yet they dare to gag on it in our faces

have they an allergy

to our well-meaning charity?

have they no understanding

of the disparity they create

between what we give and how they take?

let them in? let them in?

but they’ll devour the sacred lamb

and they’ll wake us up from our fever dream

of the utopia based on the man in the street’s needs

oh, of our man you ask?

he is tall, good looking,

straight talking, straight walking,

straight living, and of course

white, and right, always right,

yes- he always comes from the good old right,

and even though we scorn violence in foreign places

our might is moral, virtuous, and true

and comes from a patriotic morality

we’ve honed through centuries in the fight

against death, war, disease and famine

and now these creatures of an alien skin

want to bring the four horsemen right in

to our lands, hidden under the blanket of night

cross my heart and hope they die

or at least that they don’t cross the finish line

for if the sea doesn’t drown these witches

then to our villages they are bound

send them out!  send them out!

our goodwill dried all up

the day before we let them in

and now they’re here

their intentions are not so clear

as they seem not to be the bloodsuckers

that we all feared

no fangs

no talons

no coffins to lie in

just no safe home and no hope

and now true fear settles in

as we begin to realise something

we just didn’t see coming

that even though they have not

faces that fit in

whether we like it or not:

just like us

when they are believed in

their hearts beat to a calming rhythm

but when the future is unknown

their pulses  begin to quicken

and when hunters with swords in hand

gang together to hunt them down

they close rank and cover their families

in a cloak of protection

and look for a safer place to live in

well, wouldn’t you, dear Professor?

wouldn’t you demand better?

wouldn’t you, well, wouldn’t you?

all your education and you know nothing

it doesn’t take a degree to understand pain and suffering

call it empathy or sympathy or common sense

or just being a god damn human in a society

where we pride ourselves on our humanity

but you didn’t think they were human did you?

you thought they were animals, monsters, vampires

I think you’ve started to believe in your own fictional history’s lies

because from myths and legends your politics have been derived

so close your books and switch the TV  off

and look out the window and begin to experience what I say

of those who’ve travelled from miles away

who need your help not your hate

who need your embrace not fists raised

who need your warmth not icy stares

who need all your heart not a stake in theirs


Posted in poetry with tags , , on June 17, 2015 by malartart

C’mon c’mon c’mon they said, that’s no way to start a sentence, with drippy slang & lazy vowels or the unrealistic/ unrealised excuse of ‘well, like it or lump it because this is the way we speak where I’m from’

‘It’s only a crime if you’re actually caught, only a lie if you reap what you sow.’ An actual person O.U.A.T.*


Walls are collapsing

Gender’s in control

Sex with the lights on

My smile’s as infectious

As it’s dangerous

s/he= we

you & I=me

The archaic taking lessons

From modernity

Where U.F.O.’s land and are

Treated to a homecoming

& (re)appropriation of my wedding ring finger

Will show you how we can all get

To where we’re going


(*Once Upon A Time)

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