No-one, nothing;
Not a mistress,
A wife,
A brother,
A “friend”,
A politician,
The red, amber and green circles on supermarket food packaging,
My dreams, talents, health,
The train timetables,
Has lied to me as ruthlessly and consistently as my English, bedroom window.

© Carl Burkitt 2013

I’ve never had a wife
But I’ve always had a knife;
It sits inside my pocket,
Whispering my name.

© Carl Burkitt 2013

They misbehave,
She watches.

They trip and fall,
She catches.

They act like strangers,
She remains.

They snap and curse,
She refrains.

They bitch and moan,
She listens.

They need an arm,
She glistens.

© Carl Burkitt 2013

But what about that side of my brain?
The side I try hard to restrain
From causing him unworldly pain.

The side that wants to grab his head
And smash it through the garden shed.

The side that wants to slice his leg
And pinch his penis with a wooden peg.

The side that wants to peel his skin
And rub his flesh with salt and gin.

The side that wants to snap his jaw
And chop his cheeks with a rusty saw.

The side that wants to set him on fire
And lash his arms with sharp barbed wire.

The side that wants to tear off his bum
And staple it to his fat, right thumb.

The side that wants to carve out his lungs
And fill the gap with two cow dungs.

The side that wants to stab his heart
And rip his testicles apart.

The side that leaves me stunned with fear
Wondering how my path led here…

So in response to your question,
One I’ve thoroughly thought through,
Do I take this man beside me?
My answer is: ‘I do’.

© Carl Burkitt 2013

It was the first sunny day of the year and a man was handing out bags of rain to passersby.

Hot and flustered Londoners flocked to him, desperate for a freebie; thirsty for the familiar.

© Carl Burkitt 2013

I think I’m going to die tomorrow,
But that doesn’t mean I want to.

I’m yet to eat some haggis
Or punch a grizzly bear,
I’m yet to kiss a Chinaman
Or shave my pubic hair.

I’m yet to ride a penny farthing
Or sell my Tracey Island,
I’m yet to run for president
Or buy my girl a diamond.

I’m yet to burst a white head
Or wipe an old man’s bum,
I’m yet to write a lullaby
Or truly thank my mum.

I’m yet to break a door down
Or paint a boiled egg,
I’m yet to make a Jaffa Cake
Or throw a turkey leg.

I’m yet to drive a motorcar
Or write a decent book,
I’m yet to win a poker match
Or dress like Captain Hook.

I’m yet to say that big “fuck you”
Or buy myself a pig,
I’m yet to tickle Bill Murray
Or wear a silver wig.

I think I’m going to die tomorrow,
But that doesn’t mean I want to.

© Carl Burkitt 2013

It’s not very often you remember the name of an actor (or the film they’re in).
You know the one,
The one in that thing.

You remember the times of doctors appointments
And work presentations.

Boxing day is a massive deal,
Thank you cards are a must.

Coconut is nowhere to be seen,
The smell makes me gag.

But when an old film comes on,
It’s like it’s completely brand new.
I guess it doesn’t matter,
That’s just you.

© Carl Burkitt 2013

Smiling at a stranger is a sure fire way
To brighten up an unknown person’s day.

Unless of course, that person’s a dick,
Then they’ll stare at you like you’ve just been sick.

© Carl Burkitt 2013