Tag: domestic

The Lucky Mallet

Little kids can’t help be to lay in bed at night
And dream about getting their mits on the Lucky Mallet
After just one little bop on top of their heads
They’ll burst forth to an elevation like they’ve never imagined

“For now I’ll just keep you under the sheets Mr.Mallet
Getting giddy under the golden glow
Counting the days down like Christmas till I can bust you out
Then every inch will be my playground
The coffee, The smoke sticks, The fancy clothes
The stacks of gore digitized onto little CDs
Finally they’ll have to listen to what I say
I can’t wait for the ol’ tap tap tap”

But what a depressing little scenario to imagine
That given if this fictitious object came into fruition
They would bop bop bop without a moments hesitation
It just shows that from their little eyes
All the days out with the family down the beach
All the make believe games down the local wood
All the electronic art that’s been passed down as gifts
Doesn’t mean a damn thing to them

“They hold back features on a time-based-unlock
Not even giving me the courtesy of a synopsis
Just to get a few more years on the stall
The hours of experience they’ve earned on earth
Pushing trolleys and calling Sandra a bitch in the breakroom
The prefect justification to talk me down to a hush
Well when I get big I’m gonna show them all
With a bop on the ol’ noggin I’ll shut them up”

Could it be in an effort to glorify our actions
The 4 weeks grind to get the funds
To gather dime a dozen technology and architecture
That beautiful way we lie to ourselves
We’ve altered their viewpoints too?
Despite the fact that if it were any of us
And we got our hands on the Lucky Mallet
We’d bop bop bop and go back, without hesitation

As Preformed By Domestic

– Lnc0

OH GOD I’M SO SORRY!/Spotify playlist

I can’t give some deep symbolic reasons other then “Real life is happening” and “Writers Block” The updating will come back soon I pinky Prom, I got 50 unfinished Ideas so when the “Finishing Ideas me” comes back into town it’s going to be beautiful

But what kind of human would I be if I just left you empty handed? I use music A LOT as a fuel for poetic inspirations so every now and then, I’ll be updating a Spotify playlist of music that’s inspired me to write, if I ever write a new poem I’ll more then likely update the playlist with the songs that helped create it. I do this in the hope I can inspire fellow writers to put the pen to paper in the same I was inspired!

– Lnc0

OH GOD I’M SO SORRY!/Spotify playlist

Acting Submissive/Domineering With The Clubbers Of Colchester

You don’t have to yell at me so loud
Why’d you have to shriek at me so fucking loud?
I’m trying my hardest to have a good time and crack a smile
I’m trying my hardest to juice a bit of joy from this car wreck
But in the midst of this gaggle of boars
But in the midst of this murder of scavengers
The type that prey on the wandering fawns
The type that pick apart the scraps of poor lost lambs
Who have lost the sparkle in their eyes
Caked in petrol station cologne, it’s a sickening sight

I see you spread out in the back of the bar like a corpse
I wish I could obey the green lights at the racetrack
But I can’t find the heart to reach out and take it
You slump in your seat as if inviting me to do the same
I was born with more class then that love
And besides what exactly have you done to sell me on the act?

Oh and you make your disappointment in my discomfort known
All you’ve done is make your disappointment in my boredom known
If I had a penny for every time I was under criticism
If I had a penny for every time I came under criticism
Cos’ I didn’t know the way to be a real man
Cos’ I refused to fall in line for the male stereotype
I’d of ran for the taxi home to save you the embarrassment
I’d of brought you a taxi home, just to get you out of my sight

I wish I could tear your focus away from your phone screen
Trying to gather the scraps of a good night out
You shell out a drug lords daily paycheck
To sit your arses in the in the side of the club
Snapping evidence of having a good night out
To justify your empty wallet the next day
I just want to grab you by the wrist, and pull you up
Into the phantasm of the violet lights
And dance the dread away, loosen up them thighs
But oh my god I’m falling asleep
Run your hair inbewteen my fingers
And plant the sweetest embrace
But you’ve lost your willpower you just want to sink into the seats
I left my mothers womb 22 years ago to have fun
So why is it such a trail to get you on the dancefloor
Lets put them litres of booze in us to good use!

Oh please let me go!
Oh please let me free!
I can’t stand to see you like this any more
I can’t stand to put up with this any more
You fidget and squirm like a child in a push-chair
We just aren’t comfortable together it would seem
There’s more to life drinking and planting evidence for it
Get a hobby, get a life, get a fucking clue
I didn’t mean to be such a disappointment
I wish you weren’t such a disappointment
I didn’t mean to make you so sad
I wish you didn’t make me so mad
I didn’t mean to fail you as a man
I wish you’d just let me be myself, instead of a ‘man’
Maybe it’ll be better if I just went home
Maybe it’ll be better if you just fucked off?

As Preformed By Domestic

A Domestic re-write of two previous poems I wrote:
– http://thetartanprelude.tumblr.com/post/84960870662/acting-submissive-with-the-clubbers-of-colchester
– http://thetartanprelude.tumblr.com/post/84961086712/acting-domineering-with-the-clubbers-of-colchester

– Lnc0

An Excuse Not To Try

As I take another sip of the local suds
While you sit me down at the back
And confess to me your packing some extra baggage
A Diagnosable mindset with a name you can’t pronounce
As you look at me with doom and gloom in your eyes

I can’t comprehend how I’m going to live the rest of my life
With this shadow looming over me at every corner
It won’t get better, it won’t go away, it can’t be cured
You can’t threaten to leave it’s milk out of the fridge till it moves out
My life is ruined with this monkey stuck to my back

But just Imagine if Mr. Organised succumbed to the same mindset
Threw that job application for Dreamworks into the shredder
And handed in his resignation from the local film college
Because he knew he had to live with himself forever
He’d stay awake at night, toss and turning as if he was in a grave
Because he knew somewhere in West Yorkshire
Some plebeian decided to order their The Who CD collection
By year of release but made a calculated error
They put “The Ultimate Collection” before “The Very Best Of The Who”
So what’s the point in dreaming or making something of yourself
Because he’ll always have that image of that crime scene of a shelf

Imagine if Mr. Acne succumbed to the same mindset
Smashed that CD-r with his demo tape on it
And broke the band up before their début charity gig
Cracked the fret of his guitar in two
And slowly unlearned all the songs he’s written
Because he knew he had to live with himself forever
He’d lock himself up and stare vacantly at the walls
Because he knows after everytime he smeared that cream on his face
The new prescription medicine that guarantees clear skin
It’ll just grow back during that brief period
Of running out of cream and going to the pharmacy
A grave 10 minutes of walking down to the local Boots
Not to mention them whole entire SECONDS
Of applying the stuff two the 4 spots that remain after a shower
So what’s the point in dreaming or making something of yourself
Because he’ll always have to check his face every now and then

Imagine if Mrs. Quavers succumbed to the same mindset
Burned up the 300 pages of her novel
Stopped going to her book club every month
Threw out all her favourite books into the ravine
Fed all her magazines to the dog
Got rid of every thing in the house that has words in it
Smoked everything in the house that has a story to it
Because she knew she had to live with herself forever
She’d stay home from work and pace through the halls
Because she knows no matter how she spends her time
Every 4 hours she’ll crave for another packet
She’ll have to endure the pain of filling out the stock report
While tasting the disappointing husk of saliva
Everytime she walks into the cafe at lunch break
With another packet instead of a Freddo bar
She’s never felt so ashamed in her life
And she’ll have to trudge back home in the rain
Because now she’s 40p short of getting a single home
So what’s the point in dreaming or making something of yourself
Because she’ll always be thinking of the next packet before lunch

You can throw extreme’s at me all you like
Slather them all in the sauce of your sarcy tone
But it doesn’t change the hand I’m stuck with
Your Skitzofinniky, I’m Boretistic, and Mrs. Johnson has a Peg Leg
Those extra percussions are no doubt an annoyance
And the way our labels are like Abra-Kadabra
They can turn you into a three legged puppy in peoples eyes
If life can stub a toe, our’s can break their legs

But when has that ever been an excuse not to try?

As Preformed By Domestic

– Lnc0

The Kids Don’t Know What The Fuck Love Is

What is this bottomless source of inspiration they call love?
Will it give me a reason to step out of the door in the morning
What is this immortal and uncontrollable desire they call love?
Will it make me finally clear the dust in these arteries?
What is this mythical force they call love?
Will it’s claw reach out and slap the knife from my throat?
What is this all knowing, all seeing entity they call love?
Will it stroke my hair and stop the late night sobbing?

They tell us not to worry, they tell us it’s not everything
Then they tell us to fucking consume by every square inch
Self-indulgent scriptures of bloated romantics
Acting like it’s as natural as wearing the shirt on your frame
And if you dare turn up to the social gathers on your own
Then you’re the outsider, the kid that got picked last in P.E
Arm in arms they give you the most detestable looks
Forcing you back like a laser beam back to the dungeon where you belong

Disingenuous sonnets shoved down my fucking ears every day
From deflated personalities, who have beam devoid of it long ago
Trying their hardest to recall a time a fallacy could serve as the fuse
I’d give anything to feel something so powerful
That’d it’ll reduce me to such a pathetic snivelling wreck
But I’d be thankful, because I was eroding on the floor with another

Would I stop feeling so lazy, if someone else was there egging me on?
Get your arse out of that chair you’ve got to keep my interest
Would I stop feeling so hollow, if someone else was there to make me react?
Unfasten my bra and I’ll bring this poor lost soul back to life
Would I stop feeling like I want to die, if someone else was there to stop me?
Oh honey you’re a god, you’re an Adonis, you’re anything you want me to say
Would I stop feeling like their’s no point, if someone else was there to give me context?
I’ll rip you open from your insides and give you subtext

You sit there from a top a makeshift stepladder and bark orders at me
To make a rough estimate for every aspect of my life from here on out
But when I can’t even begin to grasp this simple and yet universal concept
How could I even be sure of 1% of what could reach out and trip me up
Student loans, Career prospects, Mortgage, Kids college funds and Pensions
I can’t even get her to hold my hand before she leaves on the 61
Oh god what’s the point of trying, I’m lagging behind the crowd by 2 years
And now suddenly 80 years till my grave feels like it’s tomorrow

As preformed by Domestic

– Lnc0

A Man May Have Died, But At Least This Conversation Hasn’t‏

Oh dreary, eerie me the fun and laughter’s has come to an end
Someone’s gone done a murder and a shanking
It sends a shiver down the stay at home mothers spine’s
Suddenly the walk down to Morrison is fraught with fright
People hiding in the trees, Cars stalking too close to the sidewalk
Kids coughing sends your heart rate into a critical state!

But your not the kind of thrive on controversy
But you can’t help but notice
This is the closest you’ve felt with your nursery friends
The walk home is filled with half baked theories
And exaggerated hearsay from the local publications
Like telling ghost stories under the moonlight

“Oh maybe it was the hoddies
I think it was the squaddies
I know for a fact it’s them Albanians
See? I told you this is what would happen!”

Walking your kid home has never been so lively

You’re not the heartless type that’s for sure!
But you can’t help but feel relief
When the pot holes of silence that would creep in along
When the gossip and slander would fall short
During a natter with Maggie down the laundrette
Are filled slowly with your fabricated updates

“Jenny though she saw someone hanging around
Michael swore he heard someone in the pub saying they did it
Sally heard the council are trying to cover it up
George still insists it was the Albanians”

Suddenly living with a husband you hate
And taking care of the kid you resent
Seemed a little less maddening that day

As preformed by Domestic

– Lnc0

Mutual Whatever

Kisses seal my letter of appreciation,
the timeless touch of blushing pilgrims,
passed down through the ages. Four full kisses you leant me,
after months of me trying to steal them.
I’ll try and hold onto this day
for as long as your kisses allow me to. 

I’m sorry but the kiss jumped out of me, 
trying to find a brief connection or a foothold for these feelings; 
it wasn’t an admittance but a substitution. 
My loneliness was an orbital pull and you were unlucky in your proximity. 
Don’t get me wrong, the gloss on your lips is honey, not vinegar, 
but I’m not a fly. 

Does a kiss mean nothing at all to you?
With her they were exchanges of dying embers, 
with you, like trying to ignite wet, weeping wood. 
Typical of you to provide lackluster ignition, 
and then blame the fuel. 
Atypical of you to get so hung up on what is just 
the meeting of flesh upon flesh and tongue upon cheek.

Goosebumps stood raised on my arm, 
ready to tell what you were too blind to see; 
my flesh was fuelled by the fantasies of what we could be.
Desperate indulgences feel real
when we’re only speaking with our lips. 

Can’t you just give my kisses back to me?
Fill those blank spaces in your memory,
cover my indiscretions with shared moments of a platonic nature.
I’m not ready for one action to define our relationship, my dear,
don’t throw us away on a kiss

As preformed by Domestic

– Francesniff

I’m Content

Oh I’m feeling so bloody content
Oh I’m feeling so bloody content
All my riches snug in one arm
Another lover nestled in the other
Feeding of the spoils
Of a nice hard days work
I’m so content
I’m so content

Happy, Smiley, Bubble, Gummy
Their’s no reason to feel like anything else

Keep your chin up
A stiff upper lip
You’ve got your future ahead of you
Choices spread out like a buffet
You can climb to the platinum towers
Make your babysitters so proud
But instead your so content
But you got to stay content

Cheery, Happy, Lubby, Dubby
Their’s no reason not to feel so very happy

But can’t you see past your own sloth?
My motions are bleeding from the heart
My language translates to cries of agony
I have no will to stick around in reality
I can hardly keep my eyes awake
I’m gulping and gasping for air
Their’s no reason to feel so content
No fucking reason to be content

But their’s no need to worry
Because I’m so content
No need to hide me from the neighbours 
No reason to leave me out of the xmas letter
Don’t fret mummy every things fine
Don’t roll your eyes anymore daddy
Can’t you see I’m smiling?
Can’t you see I’m so content?

Blubbly, Subby, Druddly, Mahonegy
Anything not to be called ungrateful again

There’s nothing to conduct the flood
No their won’t be no quiet mutilation this time
I can’t carry out a single motion
I can’t articulate a single word
Bouncing your suggestions and terms
Back to the realm of spite that created them
No need to hang around this realm 
When their’s no way to be content

Preformed by Domestic

– Lnc0

Embrace The Reputation

Uggghh just look at him crawl through the door now
Drenched and draped in the usual suspects
A stringy fabrication of a mod icon, and dyed out jeans
With copper shreds of evidence of musical fandom
With his hired goons and a unsuspecting victim
What on earth was any of us thinking 
Associating with a devil with such a bad reputation

Isn’t a strange phenomenon 
When the wind blows near the gaggle of salty girls
Their cries that’re being carried in the air
Sound a lot like comic book fantasies and soap opera scripts?
I couldn’t even get into a persona and act out any of this shit
Summer milkshake serenades in the park
Or winter breakfast tea sessions on my settee 
A strange thing to turn into a sex addicts soliloquy 

Just gotta grin and bear it and embrace the reputation
Just embrace the reputation
Just live the reputation
Just love the reputation

Just gotta crash straight into the dive
Scantily clad in a laddy supernova persona
Wipe the dirty glares from my cheek
Dance to the soundtrack of the little comments
Yeah I’m a Casanova and I love it
Yeah I’m an asshole and I cherish it
Whatever helps you swallow that bitter little dose
Washed down with a stolen 2 for 1 savers brand cider

Just embrace the reputation
Just BE the reputation

Just gotta turn this parole into a riot
I’ll shoot your clan a look and you’ll like it
Yeah I’ll tell you fuck off and you’ll love it
Articles and articles of bullets for you to play with
During your Facebook water cooler moment
Amass tomes upon tomes of poetry
Filling in the blanks of my non-existence crimes
Hey if it gives you joy, I’ll be happy to indulge you
And embrace the reputation

As preformed by Domestic

– Lnc0