Archive for August 2012

Paralympic Kayaking and The Able Bodied Rain That Follows

Banks swept forward fast
with weed wear and nettle tear
like gelled hair dark teen’s fringe.
Rain fell.
Horizon line held up
gray ship strong
bouncing along the tree top fringe.
Rain fell.
Water bumbled and rumbled,
petering out around the mouth
foaming, intolerable, rabies torrent.
Rain fell.
Kayak leant and bent to bold river current
white teeth that appear on waves
and cave in on bow boat ridge.
Rain no longer fell.

**My first collection of poetry is still up for sale for just £1.02. Buy now and review for your chance to win the only hard copy version of the book. Click here: http://www.amazon.co.uk/Prostitutes-New-York-Experience-ebook/dp/B008TRXU1C/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1346332685&sr=8-1
Prostitutes and New York: The Chasm Between Experience and Cold Feet



Prince Harry Naked In A Hotel Prompted Me To Kill A Fly.

Sleep comes easy to the dead,

especially those anesthetised on wooden decks
waiting for the final spray
to wash them away into an awful display
of cocked legs-
cathedral like-
and mirrored heads
resting upside down to the right.
The window sill, home of light, is now the chapel of rest, the chapel’s best readings and graveyard to the flies.
Mr. Sheen will polish up
the wood to a lovely finish.
Cloths will be cleaned with the blood
of the damned attached,
for journey into drain and mud.
Sewers, with their gangway archways
are now the cathedrals.
I killed a fly and this is what I wrote.


**Remember you can still download my book at this link here, right here, after this colon: http://www.amazon.co.uk/Prostitutes-New-York-Experience-ebook/dp/B008TRXU1C/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1345838977&sr=8-1

How To Win At Age of Empires and/or How To Travel Around Europe With A Vest and An Umbrella


Am a hotel not a motel man,
because the road is too long
for an uncomfortable bed,
in those small motel, asylum sheds
that sit with a lonesome grin upon their face
whilst we battle for miles and pace
and with haste around our veins-
we reach Paris at four.

For what? To see but a beacon on the
skyline
and the smell of bread and buttered goods
that leak from the holy shrines, speaking to
us in smell not sound.
They come and go, murmuring odes of beauty southern sweet Bordeaux.

Holy, holy, holy, holy, holy, holy
fat and sugar that sits on our hearts
and weighs us down
and slows us down
and makes us down
because we’ll die in the ground,
eventually from Lucifer’s croissant
or from the prince of darkness and
his sweet pain au chocolat. 
They come and go, murmuring odes of beauty southern sweet Bordeaux.

The tempter lures the bad men in-
a plague of pickpocket professionals
circle and play with us, under beacon and light
fire and the electric night:
that descends over us, the San Fran Fog for the Europeans.
Park life hides the honest man
sleeping straight backed, poor and stinking
on Parisian perches high above the torrent of dead
leaves swirling up around their bags- stuffed
with the stolen misfortunes
and broken illusions of dreams and hallucinations
they once had as a teenager.
They come and go, murmuring odes of beauty southern sweet Bordeaux.


Remember that my book is still on sale here, http://tinyurl.com/btq9brw. First person to buy and review it shall get the only hard copy of the collection!Prostitutes and New York: The Chasm Between Experience and Cold Feet

An Orientation Outfit/Lessons On Being Gay From Santa Claus Or Another Figment of Your Imagination


His pink shirt wont hide his mother’s disappointment,
nor the leaking pornography that leaves a sweaty scent,
on keyboard keys, tapped and fapped,
nor on yellowed sheets embarrassed, stained and marked.

His smart shoes wont hide his father’s disgrace,
nor the love for that actor, y’know in that film, the one with distinguished face?
The posters that are pinned displaying torso and abs
are his holy land, promise land, cathedral and call of distress.

His pressed trousers can’t hide his sister’s embarrassment
as she’s left home to start again.
Now he’s in the square against the tanks,
two feet firm ahead of the marching ranks.


And remember that you can still buy my book on Amazon, here: http://tinyurl.com/br4wzhsProstitutes and New York: The Chasm Between Experience and Cold Feet

A Free Book



Hello friends and family. Would you like the only printed version of my debut book? If you are one of the first 5 people to review my book on Amazon (here, http://tinyurl.com/btq9brw) you'll be entered into a prize draw to win the only book version for my eBook. Interested? 
Prostitutes and New York: The Chasm Between Experience and Cold Feet

Prostitutes and New York: The Chasm Between Experience and Cold Feet


New work will be up soon, just trying as much as possible to get this book off the ground. Likelihood? Slim. If you try and share the name, link or something then SWEET. Also, cheers for all your help so far too, it makes it fun and worthwhile.
Prostitutes and New York: The Chasm Between Experience and Cold Feet

Published!


Prostitutes and New York: The Chasm Between Experience and Cold Feet
Finally! It's live. My first collection of poetry is on Amazon and Smashwords for y'all to buy! Remember to keep an eye on the blog for more news and updates and enjoy it!?

Published 1 out of 2!

^
^
Visit Smashwords to download my debut book onto, practically, any device you own that allows eBooks! It shall be available on Amazon's Kindle directory in the next 12 hours!


Publishing on Amazon's Kindle

After hours of formatting issues and much deliberation whether to go on or not, it's ready! My first collection will be out in the next week, or so, and will be priced at the very Very VERY reasonable price of £2.99. If you've got that lingering in an account or wanting to spend your earnings from eBay, buy 'Prostitutes and New York: The Chasm Between Experience and Cold Feet'.


Thanks! 

Typewriter #1

Written on an Empire-Corona Typewriter- April 2012.

*Book Update*
Will be online in less than 48 hours

Sub Heading Poem and/or A Good Coffee With You


We write from behind wide eyed windows
saddened with the knowledge that coffee shop
vows will lead us to empty pockets and full books.

We sit with feet on stool pegs
balancing, pirouetting, excited
by the prospect of empty cups and coffee’s dregs.

‘Order more, bring another cup’
She put the change upon counter top
and came back, fire colour haircut. The one

 

Prostitutes and New York: The Chasm Between Experience and Cold Feet

'Prostitutes and New York: The Chasm Between Experience and Cold Feet'
will be the debut poetry collection from Tim Knight. It will be on Amazon's Kindle Store in the next week or so, priced at around £1.99 to £3.99. Link up when online
!