all Poems by Kilmo

A Walk in Town

Raw eyes,

Vanished years,

Streets with no memories,

Where there should be some,


That’s the pub where I?

That’s the park where?

That’s where so and so met?

I could go on,


People say they’ve got problems,

And I know they do,

But try it,

With a dollop of,

Mental health,


Sickness sucks.

Meat for the Masses

Blood flows,

To the sea,

Why pull it uphill?

Blood where we come from,

Blood where we were born,

The short answer is this:

Let’s start it,



The Domination Game

As thin as the cardboard,

It’s made of,

Like a top hat,


Behind your eyes,


People don’t come,

With scissors attached,

They don’t have a dotted line,

And golden pens,

For fingers,


Work, graft,


We’re all at it,

You’re spitting at yourself.

Cold Metal

Eyes like steel,


Worlds at bay,

In time,

They’ll feel spring

The Cryoskinner


…systems online…


#There are ProGR*ms#

Little viruses



In My Stacks

I can feel them run

LiK! Mi1111100001111ce

They Itch


Rot in my Kore







Whose Culture Is It?


I saw some letters the other day,

Gaunt and meager,

In a crabbed hand,

Holding on to the ragged ends of a culture,

That’s become a foreign land,


It’s tale of sadness and want,

Whose enemies eyes slant,

On the other side,

Of wrong,

The same as you and me,


You pass them on the street,

Aliens in a land whose rules aren’t theirs,

Where cardamon not chips is the dish,

It’s rice they juggle,

Not fish,


It must be scary,

To feel so besieged

By smiles,

That sacrificed so much,

To not show teeth,


So is that fear on the wall,

Not anger?

Beneath your sweat and hatred my friend,

You stink of it,

Scrawling racist lyrics on walls that will never win,


You’re the last gasps of a vanished myth,

Sepia-tinted bullshit,

An island,

As foreign as the jubilee,

To many,


It’s sad we forget the sacrifices made,

By Brittania’s missing children,

The ones you don’t find on the cenotaph,

A white man’s war fought by black and brown too,

Who died in the mud for us,


My friend,

You don’t speak for me,

I suspect others have said this better,

But, I want it off my back,




First World Problems


The King of Burgers,

Tepid, hot,

You got it,

Fresh from the plastic sack,


Scrape those gherkins off the top,

That’s your greens,

The meat’s,

(Did I say meat?)

Main course,


Remember to save some for the pups,

God knows why,

They’ll be dead in a month,

But we’re our own RSPCA,


Remember it’s the roller coaster of life,

Up, down,

And all over the place,

At least we know how hungry we are.


Dream Zero


Behind death,

In a corner between the stars,

Is her grin,

I can smell her lips,

And taste her tears,

And wonder at how they ever came to be,

The flicker of an eye hides her name,

If I knew it,

And the secrets it contained.


Mr Clean



You’re shrinking now,

Thinned like wax from a flame,

With a fading citrus grin,

But thank-you,

I smell so nice,

And I’m sure town appreciates it,

‘Knock ‘em dead’

Had a different meaning before I met you,

Ladies swooned,

You could see the whites of their eyes,

Now they sing a different tune,

As I stride by,

In fact my only worry now,

Is your leaving me,


And smelly,

In my bath.


The Dating Game


Part One


A single mum who’s lost everything,

A worthless bitch,

Pick them up and use them,

Ditch them when you’re done,

Flash the cash,

Spread the load,

She’ll be desperate,

To escape the brat,

They always are,

I make sure of it,

Get the mates in next,

Your aunts,

Your uncles,

And the rest,



See how far you can push it this time,

Pretty soon you’ll have her seeing the light,

Doing the ten step walk,

A mile behind,

And six feet under,

Breath deep,

You know what that smell is?



Part Two


Fucking Men,

Fucking backstabbers,

Least I’ve got the kid,

The rest of them,

All gone now,

I keep his room the way he likes it,

Liked it I suppose,

He paid a visit one,

Got drunk down the pub,

Shouted screamed,

Smashed the place up,

Said he was too good for this shithole anymore,

Too good to see me suffer more like,

Too much of his father in him,

I wish sometimes,

(At night when I’m sure there’s no one to see)

That I hadn’t,

It’s true what they say,

Love’s a bitch.




Our Harris,

Reigning down like the eye of hell,

On bodies like pipettes,

Drained of moisture,


Blotting paper figures,

Who sweat Rorchach futures,

In the smoke,

Like monks at prayer,


Our Harris,

You’re mile high engines,

Dance puppets,

Like a god,


Why the sweat?

And shabby frustration,

As you die,

They’re your bombs,


Our Harris: what did you do?


To the Highest Bidder


Burning rubber,


Like Dad’s car,

A council estate raver,

Who ran,

And keeps on running ,

To a four four beat,

They sold,

For a yacht,

In the Canaries.


A Poem called: ‘Walking Peripherals’


I felt so small once,

And I still do,

Like sand under the wheel of God’s eye,

Although I don’t believe in him,


Still the gaps in life hurt,

For all they mean nothing,

Like a record filled with grooves,

Better left unsaid,


Relax, let your guard down,

You’re faster that way,

The only war left to win,

Is getting over yourself.


One More Time


Catastrophy spins,

A storm,

Of wires,


And knock kneed thimbles.


   The Quartz Watch

It’s quiet on the frontier,

In the still cold heart of night,

Where the void has lost its stars,

Like feathers ripped from ice,


Fire has burnt across the skies,

Given birth,

And died,

On the cusp of a wave,


But the obelisk still stands,

Black memory to the march,

Of wheeling nebulae,

And the bitter beat of life,


The battles,

Hidden in its maps,


And lost.



Where are you going?

With your head in the clouds,

Dreaming of heaven,

Stop a while and talk,

Are you trying to catch a star?

Did you get your fingers burnt?

Poor you,

Don’t you think it’s time to live a little?

Take a chance,

And we’ll see what happens,

Or maybe not,

Maybe it will sizzle,

Like love so often does,

Drowned in snow,

And fists,

And rainy days,

But I have magic,

In every hidden fingertip,

I’ll make you burn,

For a  lifetime,

Let your  shoulders down,

Little man,

Don’t squander what you’ve left,

Whilst you play stubborn games with life,

The world’s for love and laughter,

Open your eyes,

Before it’s too late,

Times like quicksilver,

Wait too long and you’ll have mercury.



There are contours of knowledge,

A net that stretches across the earth,

That punches walls into rubble,

And lights sparks in the dust.



Hard to smile sometimes,

Harder than you think,

Like a gift that can be broken

Or stretched so thin,

It snaps,


Lost it did you?

I did too,

Couldn’t find it,

No matter how hard I looked,

Maybe somewhere in the past,


Or slipped between,

The gaps and tomorrow,

I forgot,

I forget,

Only it was cold,

Like you never want to know,


It comes back.


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