Dole

I sign at 1.45,
mines pretty regular,
they’ve got my hide,
watch my back and my bike,
they talk nice, I spin a few lines,
I'm not sayin I lie, im looking for work,
I just wont jerk chicken for a fiver a time,
nor will I pour wine,
it’s a fine line between
me and the big time,
but I sit and I yadder for tupance a week,
the future is brighter ,
brighter than bleak ,
I yadder some more for £60.50
while the shify fuck next to me’s on smack
smirking nifty,
might sell him some brick dust,
fuck it’s a quick must,
make a few quick bucks and buckle his teeth.


By Le d

4 minute slots for signing on at the Job Centre

It's a flawed system with broken pistons,
the machine doesn't function in the time it was given,
I'm listed, I'm gifted, at 1.24,
if I get there at two-five they'll slam the door,
but i get there at 15 and they make me sit,
and pickle my brains next to essex-chav-shit,
and I sign on and whine on, no employment for me,
unless I'm up for being a cleaner, a skivy,
fuck the job centre and fuck the dole,
even rapists get parole,
and get out with jobs without
going back on the dole,
I've applied for so much
that I'm getting the arse-ache
I never hear owt
and it's making my head ache.
I try and try,
I apply with guile,
but end up at home
watching Jeremy Kyle.

By Dr Sky

Teeth bab

The sight of his gums,
unsightly as bums,
reminds me of lib dems with teeth coated in bab,
it really was bad,
I stared and I stared until I went mad -
where was his tooth brush?
was he in that much of a rush,
that he couldn't remove the brown crud from his mouth,
how he will he ever get a girl to go south?
he'll never date with a face like a grate,
all covered in mould and filthy and old,
if you've not heard of bab,
it's northern for SHIT,
and those teeth that he had
were covered in it,
perhaps he had a fetish,
shit salad, not lettuce,
a cack covered pie
with piss strips for lattice,
something about him
really was babbish.
just get some colgate,
and brush it away,
and stop chewing tobacco,
you babber, today.

By Dr Sky

Ode to Susan

She's a bit simplistic,
she makes me ballistic,
cos nothing she says is that realistic,
but for chart number 1's she knows how to list it,
she's ugly as fuck with a face like a duck,
and waddles and quacks to the sound of the drum,
and in nightclubs we listen and dance while on rum,
and she's raking it in,
she's taking it in,
that lily allen is making me grin,
but only because i've had too much beer,
so thank you for sending me "the fear"

By Dr Sky

Cock-eyed, Crazy and Die

Cock-eyed, Crazy and Die

Dole Scum Bum Poets,
You don’t know us but you’ll know it,
Liquefying, coalescing,
thermoplastics, fabrication,
melting and molten,
a weld pool made by electric arcs.
Sculpture, with stone, metal, casts,
a heart made of glass,
shards of shatters,
shards in my heart,
splattered and punctured,
blood in my lungs,
coughing up plumes of dust.

Port through a straw,
is that port through that door
Or starboard? I never was sure.
Are you trying to lure me
on the ship for shore?
There’s no cure -
Coz I don’t like quotes, boats,
or rhyming prose,
And Spock out of Star Trek scares me.
Behind every door is a whore,
like a game show with panties galore,
bought from a cheap newsagent store,
Hosted by Paul Daniels and Debbie McGee,
We won the show and ate her panties for tea.

“Pickled port perfectly poured
by princess whores onto perverts pricks”,
Juliet jotted the words that were
Rotted, that spewed from her brain
as drugs drove her insane,
I wanted a cure, instead I got
more than I bargained for.
Juliet played the clarinet,
I hated the noise,
it caused me distress.

Up, down, under, around, inside and out,
Let’s give it a clout,
That’s what mum did, if ever in
doubt,
And if ever bemused
I slapped her right back, much amused
I gave her a shiner,
So she ripped out my spine…urrgh,
It was disgusting, alive and twitching,
elongating itself but
twisted I said “You can stay out of my body,
That workmanship’s shoddy. I’m going to God,
see if he’ll bring me back as a gay black male dog.”
I said my goodbyes and off I went
And left
Polly to hold up the air vent
and the scent of my soul ascended,
To the sky,
Dr Sky, Hi!
Sky would have fallen straight over
the white cliffs of Dover, except she flew
with the grace of a gull,
flew straight ahead and cracked her skull -

inside were maggots,
They laughed gay as faggots
And screamed as they drowned in the sea,
a sea we made with our own wretched pee,
a sea so stale,
stale with ale,
with a passing stench
a stench from a wench
And that was the end of us…


Here lies Le d:
Straight laced, drinks tea,
Northern poet,
Smash my grave up and throw it.

Here lies Dr Sky:
Testament to the youth of Essex,
port pervert and painkiller pansy,
liked it through a straw and off the cuff,
long may she sleep.




By dole scum bum poets