Asleep

All his housemates are asleep
This is not okay,
he needs their company, for his sanity to
Keep
For on his own, he just procrastinates
And wastes his un-precious time
By writing such nonsense
As this unimportant rhyme
Somebody should really
Make him right some proper words
That aren't fucking stupid
And slightly absurd
But they're asleep.

Twenty's plenty

Twenty's plenty
It really is enough
There's no need for more
Or people start to cough
With boredom
Of moredom
And that isn't a real word
Say it more than once
And it starts to sound absurd
Twenty's plenty
But I'm not about to stop
More More More More
Will the void ever be filled
?
Material
Possessions
Drive mankind behind the wheel
Collision up ahead
How many involved?
What's happened to the dead?
Cover up
Cover up
Cover up
Whitewash the blood
Enough, Enough
Enough.

Now, on first reading you may think that this poem is hinting at the corruption of Western Politics; the word 'whitewash' being second nature to the critical observer of our politics, synonymous with everyday government procedure:  remove a problem, pretend you didn't. And of course, the repetition of the phrase 'cover up' only reinforces this idea. As for 'Twenty's plenty', I'm sure this is referring to the figure of political 'mishaps', casualties or 'cover ups', in thousands perhaps.  Perhaps the most self-explanatory feature of this poem is the repetition of the word 'more' which amply demonstrates the modern human obsession with possession and consumption; a recurring but nevertheless crucial theme. Or did I just write this because it's my twentieth post..?

Satvia

Satvia
Not a word
Satvia
Sounds absurd
Satvia
This is how it's done
Satvia
Let's be having some
Satvia.