Thursday, 1 March 2018

Gabriel Behind Bars

Angel Gabriel is in custody tonight, so all the young girls and boys of the world can rest easy in their beds.

Arresting officer, Inspector Jerry Standing of Ukosh stated, “A historic moment. Been tryna nail this two-faced little shite since The Sweeney”. It's unknown how many victims were impregnated by the fiend, but some sources put the total at half the world's population.

Gabriel uses a form of Ecstacy called Religion to drug and then seduce his victims. As Dr. Karlo Marx of the BM says, “There are many innocuous looking drugs out there: Poverty, for example, used by a rape syndicate out of Oxford; and Charity, which funds kiddie brothels in Venezuela.

Hell's Angel

Gabriel, whose address was given as Elysium Fields, Cal., is thought to have consorted with Savile, Weinstein, Spacey and Harris. Sir Gary Oldman is pipped to take over the role, when his Oscar is out of the road.

Mary and child are said to be safe on Lesbos.

Thursday, 1 February 2018

(Stools on the White House Lawn Series)

reliquary of
Garden Turds


Illustrated by
Pyeland Crapple

To celebrate the centenary of the celebrated wildlife artist's ground-breaking publication, The White House has commissioned downwritefiction to reissue its first five illustrations in full digital color (sic).

Plate 1: Common or Garden Dogshit

Indistinguishable by species except in size, colour and smell, the Common or Garden dogshit is found in the best gardens everywhere. Homogenous pood of this kind hardens or mulches within ten to twenty days of excretion, depending on ingredients, weather conditions & presidential diktat.

Plate 2: Long Black Turd

The longest recorded dog turd is nothing but the stuff of urban myth. And the idea that this whopping dump is sometimes mistaken for a black mamba is erroneous, too; the deadly snake not being black at all, and at four metres in length puts the Guinness turd to shame. Still, shun those footstools hiding in the tall grass!
Plate 3: Patio Poop

Few patios seem complete without a good dollop of somewhat loose faeces adding to the cracks and grouting which have filled up with crud and then sprouted couch grass and wild orchid.

Plate 4: Purple Cat Crap

Practically all cats produce poo of delightful hue. Quite why it is true is a mystery both to man and kangaroo. And so, without further ado, let us examine this extraordinary issue...

Plate 5: Sunkissed Shite

The long hot, lazy days of summer bring out the true colour of Shite, a silvern off-white. Flaky, odor-free and otherwise looking good-for-nothing, Shite sometimes resembles a nest of worn-out golf balls. Like fake chocolate money, a good tip for the caddies!

Don't Stand On It!

Monday, 1 January 2018

Archie Locost - post mod'n'rocker


war was young the lads in oil & woad
pestered fishing strands & hillside towns
drove the yeomen back to save their homes
drank ourselves down

peace was always close at hand the old
folks would parley while the young uns howled
injuries we swapped for sluts & gold
drinks did the rounds

so the men were given new employ
picket duty paid to sit around
guarding sacred mounds which spiked our joy
drink ran aground

till the lassies turned their tails you see
farmers' boys had brought 'em fleece & kohl
sate beneath the well-hung chestnut tree
drank we a skoal

there you are a soldier's memories
stars or promises how should I know
drew me far across the wine dark seas
drunk on patrol


singing earthquakes floods & heaven knows
hail stones big as goof balls barmy coups
floaters fleeing civil wars & polls
strung on a blues

I have always stood averse to woe
tipped the waiting piper tapped my toes
never failed to foot the fiddler's bow
strung on a blues

surfed the years from node to crested node
lived a life composed of turpitudes
told some stories wrote some frigging odes
strung on a blues

faced with prophesies deep as sink holes
waves of Chinese that whisper no news
I've faked reports of prison break moles
strung on a blues

time to time to modulate the load
spun them oldies on a different tune
now ironic Aeolian mode
strung on a blues


barking man on peccadillos sprayed
cunt across my shield a straight I'm ill
literate unfit & charmless why
can't even spell

fat & greedy drive while txting quite
bald half blind my ears ain't small I smell
drink at least a quart of hooch a day
write with a quill

just in case you think I'm joking try
crossing me with the female from hell
kids beware is all I gotta say
grist to the mill

sense my humour Polly darlin' play
Missus for me since you're up it's fill
kettle time we'll have a cup of tea
isn't it well

don't much care the hour or day you see
someone's got to ring a bloody bell
what's so bad about me anyway
licensed to chill


when the old guard lays a spiky head
must he mate with milkmaids live on farms
run with dogs go gathering herbs spread
muck with his arms

should the discharged pay for cakes & ale
begging waiters' pardons kissing palms
sink his pride to ask for tick or trade
muckrakes for arms

leave atomic weapons to one side
talk of soldiers' peace & who it harms
politicians lie in state they die
marked by our arms

veterans extend the other hand
playing blasted fools we sing for alms
entertaining youngsters what an end
mocked by our arms

give us more than glory thanks & pride
we who saved your bacon sing no psalms
war's the only creed we understand
mucking with arms

(special bonus piece)

Archie & the Locusts

a Harvey Weinstein production

if convicted say in their defence
like naked urchins they stood with needs
women's comfort lent them innocence
rash were their deeds

born to fight no family or friends
Locust pay was fame & concubines
rape is not too strong the maidens ran
warned of their wine

drink was but the means of it their cause
peace sublime for which post-coital read
soldiers win & lose for love of wars
loss was their lead

chastened till the urge returned they sang
barbs of ribald wit in mournful modes
echoed Arion of Lesbos rang
epic their odes

now accused of crimes for which they've paid
censored by their conquests underpants
tied around their ankles left unplayed
hollow their rants

Friday, 1 December 2017

1917 & other observations

دون الإخلال

for Zerox Quid
είναι όλα ελληνικά για μένα


in the cotton picking moment
in the long pause before foreign wars
laid waste the international banking laws
his mission was piped in ochre balls

we're not asking you to steal the crown jewels
go East young sport & sow yr oats ferret out
some hydra-harried rose for comfort camouflage
yourself in that pack of confidence tricks
yr grandpa perfected from the pulpit

play hard & duplicate yr monthly report
tucked between the lines of a poetry mart
not under the counter just so darned smart
those Limey dicks'll die puzzling out

quoth his mentor over Harvard lunch
now be a good sort and pass the port

he took his trusty plume in hand
he took his wolfram wand of the purple end
in no time caught the minxsome foal with eyes
so swart she blacked his name
while boosting his fame in the views
of other ex-pats on the parlour game

Quid of the 'baccy swoon balling
zeroxed banknotes down the vales
of maidens & fielding Pinkerton Man
to Winston Churchill's Cousin Sam
stroked his early white beard & spoke
in onion seller's antic cant

you've gone straight native Uncle Tom pipped
by your own lip truly rabbit holed tant pis
well enjoy this dead end pier I'm off on me hols
leave you to tinker with the mother ship


snot on an old man's lapel is all
the watch & chain he could pocket
laid off forty years before retirement

his rack-a-hoo trailing off into that sunset smile
where all who snout & snifter lie down the while

yet shield your eyes sonny man and see
surf breaking on The Strand
driftwood of wrecks coming in to land

bald head on the shoulder-block of youth
antiquated thought dolled-up as youth
become the latest high falutin' fad
as off-course tipster to the owl gang
if lucky you'll twit one last ignoble
Iscariot hanging out at Uttoxeter
or failing that bag yrslf a spying Helot


a game of cheese

my hair is bad tonight
she says to me
I say the wind is up

she prays
what the devil

I repeat my dear
the wind the yellow wind

put your teeth in she snores
so that I may hear

& I reflect
it's up again

you jealous creep
don't bother me

with that she groans
& goes back to sleep


here's a good 'un overheard at Margate Metropole
as we were sate next to Willie Maugham & Co

that German naval attaché in Geneva
tall green yacht fella on lake whatchamacallit
six inch shells concealed i'the fo'c'sle
his great uncle Heimie lost a leg at Gettysburg

says that if Amerikar came into the war
would treat every table at the casino
to a bottle of Bollinger a politician
mind you neglects to tell on which side

so our British coz by his ma & in-laws
related to THREE US presidents
not to be outdone orders champagne all round
which Fritz Whathisface disdains to swallow
proving thereby no sausage-eater was ever a sportsman

cabled this to Chicago for the Spring edition
in hopes to be on time for once


render unto Caesar I say unto Quid

can't blame a fellow for being a snipcock
went to school with one his pa made millions
out of workwear pour les ouvriers
first rate chap just an accident of birth
even the Great Lord Himself was of the persuasion
till he swept the lizards from The Temple

what sticks in yr craw Zerox old sport is that
while promises on Palestine and the Hejeira
play each other out the war is decided not
on the battlefield but by schnozzled old
Rothsteins & Weitzmans in oak panelled rooms
belching brandy fumes through fat cigars
to the tune of fine young men losing life & limb
for percentage points on a ticker machine

he says sell that to the fishwives of Nantucket


so a poor odd-jobber must suffice
to put a start and an end to the sacrifice

doubtless eats pork'n'beans from a tin
lives alone in a squalid room
parts his rug with a metal comb
& ends each day stinking of resin

the auguries are propitious
if not unpredicted Medusa's
hair so deuced she takes her pill
the helot drunk on dregs of wine
while outside mustard gasses belch & spill

if the deed were done at all
'twere better done i'the East

downstairs supper clatters in the sink
a club foot scrapes in the hall
the blighter puts on a thin coat
& closes the front door

Eliot T Stern plods mutt-infested streets
where the yellowish curls of fat armed matrons
bare to the elbows lean through sash windows
spitting fag-ends from blistered lips

impregnating the quarter of new foreigners
brought in to replace such Latin waiters
as were repatriated for the draft
through this & that back street the neutral man
limps along taking neither bus nor tram

Stern follows into a Jerry-built walk-up
he breathes its camphored air as if to be sick
as if to detect the stench that god forsook
is all his ancient nose were made for

with metre throbbing on the fifth floor
& poor inebriate fumbling at the door

his vorpal wand snickers the Helot's back
a frenzied attack stupid cops to conclude
a jealous tart with heart of wormwood


so let us horse trade you and I in nods and winks
Europe spread out on a billiard table
like a Zeppelin blockading the skylight
follow my finger down these evacuated streets
collaborators' retreats
where the all-night talk is of Swiss Hotels
quayside restaurants with six-inch shells
an argument oblique and of obscure intent
droning on as if oblivious to the question
but do not ask one's humble opinion
step inside and hear them grumble

about the room the Marshals sit and smoke
of Winston Churchill with an Armenian bloke


Mr President the revolution will not be cabled
direct though still encoded in modern verse
and passed through conventional channels

the agents sent into the field have both
changed their spots our Whitehall colleagues quoth
to join the very cliques they were sent to spy upon

Mr Quid stakes his talents railing
against Sephardic plots in the salons of the rich
while his replacement Mr Stern a Harvard man
one evening melted into the London fog

yes government property stolen
fake identities all but gone

and therefore begging yr pardon the revolution
while still appearing in a Chicago newsletter
may not be telegraphed direct to this office sir


1. دون الإخلال (WITHOUT PREJUDICE)
2. είναι όλα ελληνικά για μένα (It's all Greek to me.)
3. Eliot T Stern & Zerox Quid: TS Eliot and Ezra Pound.
4. Helot: Spartan warriors were expected to have bumped off a slave by their coming of age.
5. "snipcock": an offensive term for a Jewish man, lifted from cartoon strips in “The Eagle” & Private Eye”.
6. The Rothsteins: wealthiest of all the Swiss bankers; (Chaim) Weitzman: a founder of Zionism (later first president of Israel) who handed the British a secret formula for making acetone in exchange for the First - “Balfour's” - Declaration on Palestine.

7. "a jealous tart with heart of wormwood" ie: 'he do the police in different voices'

Never Ends!

Wednesday, 1 November 2017

posthumous toads

eat death

two in one I swatted pests today
crept upon their trysts & made them pay
double death for feasting side by side
howzat I cried

while they hesitated loathe to leave
one alone the pests ignored my cleave
swinging high above their eyes I closed
honking like Toad

death to all that dare to flout my rule
lord of youse whose airspace I control
come in pairs or threesomes if it suits
wed to my hoots

wet dream of the common toad

I was a hump-backed frog at Oxford
no one kissed me there my inner prince
lurked below in ponds the skaters worked
deaf to my grin

ain't too late to look me down my dear
toe the ice & tickle undergrown
algae pink step in there's nowt to fear
blind to my green

poison well & drowning fair enough
Danger Toad's my middle name I swam
backwards through two civil wars the rough
numb to my gun

hold me tight & warm me with your blood
see this nightmare out till croaks at dawn
feel the wisdom oozing from the wood
dumb to my gloom

just a peck you'll suffer no regrets
tunes will bubble while I sing your song
taste these lips before the full moon sets
dead to my gong

you wanna reason

Daddy was a robber didn't kill
no one though he once ran down a cop
banks and racketeering were his thrill
over the top

papers say a bingo calling drilled
peace of mind into him but it stopped
short of a cure guess his crimes just spilled
over he topped

wanted lists in umpteen states not bald
shaved his mop Yul Brynner style & fopped
bony headed a charmer who called
barley when copped

almost made public enemy one
covetted slot for those on the run
willed that honour to his eldest son
bundle of fun

where you take it is right to the stop
crime never paid off in dollar bills
oldest way to get on top is thrills
over your pop

no title few deeds

insects squabble here above my head
buzzing off they snag what little hair
time & genes repair good sir you're dead
give me the air

heat is not a thing most British bear
well though I am tolerably staid
even forty centigrade I swear
leaves me unfazed

flies apart I swelter happy days
far from cold & shudder going there
where it's ten or twelve in August pray
give me your airs

London Derry Welsh or Scots don't care
tunes I'll clap to throw the key away
sing by heart but not the temperature
leave that at bay

sea & sun the summer long it takes
all I have to hang my hat down here
titles none few deeds but still I say
give me the air

Archie Locost (attrib.)