Late Night Poetry with Matthew Mortimer.

Nashdown
Tell me, Kate Nash, why do you look so down?
Is it the quality of your music that's making you frown?
Does it disappoint you to know there are some
Who have no time to listen to something so dumb?

And how did The Enemy get to number one?
Making music that boring just shouldn't be done.
And how can they claim that Alex Turner is dull
When their music makes me want to put bullets in my skull?



Good Idea Fred
Good Idea Fred
Got it into his head
That he was achin'
For some bacon.

But he was too lazy
And much too crazy
For his bacon lovin'.
Didn't put it in the oven.

He got his eat on
Om nom nom.
Didn't get to the cake.
Stomachache.

Cook your bacon
Or you'll be shakin'
Like Good Idea Fred
Who is now fucking dead.

I was going to write three poems, but I've just run out of inspiration. And I should really feed my rabbits, and probably my cats. I don't even know why I felt compelled to write this, probably because I'm feeling a bit miserable. And I'm even more miserable now because I've given this blog a misleading title. It's actually 2:44am, so it should technically be titled 'Early Morning Poetry with Matthew Mortimer' But then it sounds like it's targeted at the elderly who have nothing better to do with the remainder of their lives. 'Late Night Poetry' suggests there could be something edgy and NSFW there. Although Blogger will probably claim I wrote this at about 10pm, so it works out just fine. If you forget that I just admitted it was written at nearly 3am.

It's quite comforting to know that, when I'm feeling down, I don't write poetry about finding out what the veins in my wrist look like or some darkness looming over me, but instead write poetry about Kate Nash and the dangers of uncooked bacon. I'm going to go watch City of God now. And don't worry about me; this picture never fails to cheer me up.