His hands were great.
They could build,
they could break,
they could take
my pain away.
They could dig,
they could bruise,
they could sooth
my soul today.
He hand the hands of a fighter
but his touch was much lighter;
as he held me,
and stroked me,
and choked my
problems away.
They day his hands left
I’ll always regret;
as my actions put gloves
on his love.
I can’t reach them,
I can’t kiss them,
my body can do nothing
but miss them.
© Carl Burkitt 2014
Tod: Oh, cock!
Dom: Tod?
Tod: Not cool!
Dom: OK, Tod?
Tod: No, Dom. Look.
Dom: Hmm?
Tod: LOOK!
Dom: …Oh, God…
© Carl Burkitt 2014
Sean bagged himself a trophy wife.
He booked an open top bus to parade around town
and lifted her above his head
by her massive ears.
© Carl Burkitt 2014
Monty died for the tenth time.
He thanked the Gods for his survival
and began pondering what other lies
the human race had spread about his kind.
© Carl Burkitt 2014
I love the Bee Gees
But Barry’s beard gives me
The heebeegeebees.
© Carl Burkitt 2014
“But does he really?”
“Trust me Alistair, Darling,
Eric Pickles. Loads.”
© Carl Burkitt 2014
He cried. She consoled.
Her touch like a soft whisper;
Smooth and chocolaty.
© Carl Burkitt 2014
“Can you write Haiku?”
“I try, but rarely succeed.”
“Me too. The form is hard.”
© Carl Burkitt 2014
Like water she moves
Smoothly, gracefully, moistly;
Slipping into cracks.
© Carl Burkitt 2014
I was lost, like a car with no direction,
Then you appeared; God’s greatest creation.
You are the stars to my Milky Way,
The fog lights to my misty day.
You are the plaster to my cut,
The buffet to my Pizza Hut.
You are the twinkle to my eye,
The sunshine to my sky.
You are the wrapper to my chocolate Flake,
The rising agent to my cake.
You are the pen to my paper,
The drink to my Don Draper.
You are the Worcester sauce to my cheese on toast,
The gravy to my Sunday roast.
You are the bowl to my soup,
The toilet roll to my poop.
You are the Fergie to my Man U,
The tramp to my Special Brew.
You are the strings to my bow,
The comb to my ‘fro.
Your are the sentences to my story,
The spoon to my knickerbocker glory.
You are the end to my masturbation,
You are God’s greatest creation.
© Carl Burkitt 2014
Carl tells tales 