After the hours that Sarajevans pass
Queuing with empty canisters of gas
to get the refills they wheel home in prams,
or queuing for the precious meagre grams
of bread they’re rationed to each day,
and often dodging snipers on the way,
or struggling up sometimes eleven flights
of stairs with water, then you’d think the nights
of Sarajevo would be totally devoid
of people walking streets Serb shells destroyed,
but tonight in Sarajevo that’s just not the case–
The young go walking at a strollers pace,
black shapes impossible to mark
as Muslim, Serb or Croat in such dark,
in unlit streets you can’t distinguish who
calls bread hjleb or hleb or calls it kruh,
All takes the evening air with a strollers stride,
no torches guide them, but they don’t collide
except as one of the flirtatious ploys
when a girl’s dark shape is fancied by a boy’s.
Then the tender radar of the tone of voice
shows by its signals she approves his choice.
Then mach or lighter to a cigarette
to check in her eyes if he’s made progress yet.
And I see a pair who’ve certainly progressed
beyond the tone of voice and match-lit flare test
and he’s about, I think, to take her hand
and lead her away from where they stand
on two shells scars, where, in 1992
Serb mortars massacred the breadshop queue
and blood-dunked crusts of shredded bread
lay on this pavement with the broken dead.
And at their feet in holes made by the mortar
that caused the massacre, now full of water
from the rain that’s poured down half the day,
though now even the smallest clouds have cleared away,
leaving the Sarajevo star-filled evening sky
ideally bright and clear for the bombers eye,
in those two rain-full shell-holes the boy sees
fragments of the splintered Pleiades,
sprinkled on those death-deep, death-dark wells
splashed on the pavement by Serb mortar shells.
The dark boy-shape leads dark-girl shape away
to share one coffee in a candlelit café
until the curfew, and he holds her hand
behind AID flour-sacks refilled with sand.
SAaAAAAAAAAaa Duuuuuuuuuudeedess
S!qaauobaaaaa a bcdduuuuuuududddeesess
de ting goes skraaaaap
This gave me so much pleasue, ooo yh
I love Ben
Ben rippingale is a queer
2+2 is 4 – 1 dats 3 QUICKMAFF
man you gotta figure whats funny and what isnt heres a link to a comedy page https://www.cancerresearchuk.org/
Back in the day, me and you baby
We used to have fun
Until you delivered that baby
Look, that’s not my son
Do you ever just like, yk, wanna punch ur older brother on the throat, coz I do
#owenspoems
Jacob is autistic
im rly loving these comments u guys
perhaps
don’t you ever feel like a plastic bag,
I have no:
friends
family
money
life
BUT I DO HAVE A BOYFRIEND!!!;)
this is fucking gay nigger
Ay
Fonsi
DY
Oh
Oh no, oh no
Oh yeah
Diridiri, dirididi Daddy
Go
Sí, sabes que ya llevo un rato mirándote
Tengo que bailar contigo hoy (DY)
Vi que tu mirada ya estaba llamándome
Muéstrame el camino que yo voy (Oh)
Tú, tú eres el imán y yo soy el metal
Me voy acercando y voy armando el plan
Solo con pensarlo se acelera el pulso (Oh yeah)
Ya, ya me está gustando más de lo normal
Todos mis sentidos van pidiendo más
Esto hay que tomarlo sin ningún apuro
Despacito
Quiero respirar tu cuello despacito
Deja que te diga cosas al oído
Para que te acuerdes si no estás conmigo
Despacito
Hold tight Max Branning, my slime
[Verse]
I counted like three, two, one (One, one)
Santa, are you dumb?
You just cussed my mum (Mum, mum)
Your jaw will get spun
Rudolph left, he run (Run, run)
Trust, he didn’t want none
The reindeer had a gun
Something’s gonna get bun’ (Bun’)
Bunsen burner, yeah, we light it
Pork on the table, I don’t bite it
Is that bacon?
Give it to Jason
He’s Jafaican
Fam, he’s Asian
Talkin’ ’bout bumba, bumba, bumbaclit
This brudda, what a neek
Yo, Shafique, pass the turkey
He said, “I can’t, it’s doing burpees”
Who’s in the room? Let me see
Is that Asznee kissing Dafnee who has acne on her forehead?
All this happening on a moped
I turn left
I see Santa holding a panda drinking Fanta from Uganda
You think it’s banter?
Part 2: Prod. by Gotcha
[Intro]
Ayy, lemme switch dis
You dun’ know
Ayy, Young Potassium, I see you
Carbon Monoxide, you dun’ know the ting
[Verse]
One, two, three, four, five
Once, I caught a fish alive
Six, seven, eight, nine, ten
Then I let it go again
And again and again, then that fish went pen
I saw Kesha, I saw Ken
He was holding a skeng under his skirt
He called it “kilt”
Big man, I don’t kill
Holding my drink
It got spilt
That was coconut milk
Man, I go ching-ching-ching for the Chingford
See your ex in Bedford
Hold tight, man like Pickford
Duck man down in dat Ford, Ford, Ford
I went Barking
Couldn’t find parking
Kinda jarring
Had the .44, long like biscuit (Biscuit, biscuit)
‘fore bed, I drink Nesquik (Nesquik, Nesquik)
Yo, yo
Man’s black, my hair is black
Tracksuit black
Your girl is zapped, she’s got a back
Your sister’s clapped
What is that?
Round of applause, clap-clap-clap
Flex with a stack? It ain’t yours
Big man, put your lies on pause
Stay in your lane, sit with Jane
Man got a Twitter, troll insane
Bring the tissue, I need Andrex
High school prom, your mum wore spandex
Where’s my ex? I don’t call her
Where’s my next? I don’t know her
Uh, uh
It’s a good time now, I wanna celebrate
Good time now, I don’t wanna be late
Good time now, I don’t wanna be rude
Good time now, uh, where’s the food?
It’s in ching-ching-ching for the Chingford
Duck man down in a big Ford
Fly your girl like Concorde
143 on the dashboard (Board)
It’s in ching-ching-ching for the Chingford
Duck man down in a big Ford
Fly your girl like Concorde
143 on the dashboard (Board)