Charlie Chicken Soup

He walks down cobbles and blows bubbles for a pilgrimage of constant troubles, closing doors to tax men, running for milk floats, shunning almighty bible bashers, paints the flags of east London fascists

Charlie chicken soup with a head like a beetroot and a tenor of whom is mute, he wanted to join the prestigious fancy pants music school but his quality of hair gel was claimed destitute.

Had a wife worked in the chippie called Acute but minute wee Amy is crying water works at the back.
She look out the window wiping oil from her brow noticing slow mo Joe doing tricks with his thumbs.

Her joy is revisited and throws him an assorted bag of shark’s teeth.
Charlie Chicken Soup is the turning of the owls head and how to get ahead in marketing.

Bring forth the muse of misguided misdeeds.
The Head of Maggie Thatcher.

I don’t have the moves like jagger but for the eyes of Medusa.
My stone heart in a time of bleeding gilded twee and repeated cackanory.
Charlie Chicken Soup

See me next at the Car wash
I came with dreams and aspirations.
I chug the bottle
My body hung is by pegs.

Gang bangers and gimps sniff the glue from a throat slit seething goat.
Charlie Chicken Soup

I am a spelling suggestion, the time it took to compose this.
My foot is now a fist.
Sealed with a lipless kiss.

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Jack Kelly

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Scribing and thoughts of the lone wolf of North West London. Storyteller, Nonsense bellringer for the love of imagination and having a many a laugh.
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Je Suis Charlie

Je Suis Charlie short poem

You don’t know what I’m thinking, can’t see the cinematheque inside my head where horrible and beautiful images collide, a claquement that generates everything I say, everything I write just because I can’t draw an image, because my line is