Monday, January 30, 2006

A Toad on Velvet Background

THIS... is this steel made from the state.
We hide in these measurements.........................................................................................
Reaching 160 never give up taking up causes.
Our Greek Ministry trying to urge the problems
Can all this merriment shake my body in Europe.

Can I be of them, are YOU?
Watch out the Turks they bath in Onions
and dedicate mushrooms to Kofte kebabs ......
Yet, I am dedicated to Greece
you will feel it like and like
licking a toad on a velvet background.

A Poem by The Cloned Corpse of Marcus Tal
inpsired by the world of Devious Diva

Sunday, January 29, 2006

Who Can Throw Them and Avenge me ?

Sovereignty of infidelities too true
Time around the swirling chaos they claw
financial feasibility of new law
suffocating bureaucracy and dinners for me and you.

Receiving the room early in real time.
Hope to further tighten the Verdict
After all these events, we socialize in grime
and actions of all heartless usually wearing high heels
Air-mail arranged marriages and nickel subsidies

I Owe 20 metres to the employees of my country Greece
Corruption, the virtuous marriage from the first place of North America
In paperwork dwell misinformed staff, strikes, vacations, and commentators
Who can throw them cowards,avenge me
Abandon everything ever since the table, avenge me.

A Poem by the Cloned Corpse of Marcus Tal
inspired by the strange site of the The Sea Witch

Friday, January 27, 2006

Может сказать большой части из клубники одни? (Who can tell most of the strawberry ones?)

Гарантия деньг, никакая ОН назад к маневру в этом вкусном ехпортированном стейке страуса, представленном unto вкус отпочковывается, thou не заявляет НЕТ.
Рубашки фланели, удобные ботинки, истиння значение: Я думал.
Я увидел обслуживания греческой аварийной ситуации медицинские для Marchewix, ее, котор вы.

После того как я потерян в их телах, обгрызать некоторый из стейка страуса, котор клиент пробует к НИКАКОМУ avail.
You может сказать большой части из клубники одни.
После этого вызвал smash и международную работу.
Специальный греческий розничный торговец мои собственные специальные кредитнаяа карточка.

A poem by the Cloned Corpse of Marcus Tal
Inspired by the site and message of internet piece from Marchewix

Tuesday, January 24, 2006

Farm Gear on Smoke Stacks

Waking up immediately posted by the showroom
dripping with elongated streamers of bubbles
brewing in a levitating sprint.

Instead turning round on it
They are not the spray to become a current
I yelp for the rhythm of Angels on a Roadrunner.
Huckleberry steamboats turning my feet
Turning the theme, scream KXTC!! KXTC!!
The amazing cruisers on now!

Moving faster I dervished my power
A sea, the grid of specialty
farm gear on the smoke stacks
Beneath which towers cower

A Poem by the Cloned Corpse of Marcus Tal
inspired the poetry and writings of Finnegan

Monday, January 23, 2006

The Phil Hendrie Poem

certainly more closely resembled renegade hoaxers
eponymous host stops and his voice dips
An on-air God will speak
Almost made more likely, the pips doth squeak

Everyone agrees he gets his cookies.
Hendrie finally had subsided, and short
One to judges
done for on TV Utter Failure

Those yammering dimwits on his talk shows
The audience for debate, the time
because cat sex is just beginning to decay
In an infinite pool of Christian Carrion crows

Everyone agrees he gets his cookies
Hendrie finally had subsided, and short
One to judges
Done for on TV Utter Failure

Up tips first hand on real people and families
Born house slippers
Spinning Robert Goulet records
One of a show, his American comedies

A Poem by the Cloned Corpse of Marcus Tal

Inspired by Phil Hendrie
Commissioned by Scruffy American

Saturday, January 21, 2006


Gather round, hear me, for I shall unveil a cowardly would be murderer and his associates:











The mystery murderer in my analytical opinion is:

The excessive elaborate violence of the bid, designed to generate more than a few dead chunks of my clone DNA is a trademark of this brute. This fiend holds a vendetta the size of the Isle of Wight against myself and dehydrated corpse. He is the perfect tool for sinisters powers, who jealous of my superb science and poechemy and the dehydrated one's fine hair and military mind, would use him as a fool/tool to ensure our destruction and gain access to the secret wonders of this site and my magical poechemitcal word forge. It matters not that the password for my site is hardcoded into my DNA. I changed the password on the site before my demise, on a tip off from, that fine clone brother and truth seeker, the evaporated and condensed clone of Marcus Tal.

Sadly as well, the dryskinned fiend has been aided by two traitors, Shinzon and Tomalok, the cowboy and biker respectively (in the photo below) of the dehydrated corpse's praetorian guard The Tal Shiar Death Squad who turned the dehydrated corpse's anger and frustration against a good friend of mine Scruffy American. What traitorously vile jackanapes. The warlord's vengence of the Dehydrated Corpse will not be kind...

TRAITORS IN THEIR MIDST: A sad day for the Tal Shiar Death Squad of The Dehydrated Corpse of Marcus Tal...

After painstaking research and analysis, with the help and inspiration of Flying Aqua Badger, I found damning evidence on this poor excuse for a 'blog'.


Although backed by the blood money of this dark figure

I have divined the work of a greater and darker powah pulling the strings from a careful reading of the dessicated one's blog. The dessicated one received, one morning a few months ago, a mysterious 1970s album by the Funk Rock band Jeronimo Johnstone and the Magnificents. Drawing on my considerable intellect and experience in the field of intelligence, and the analytical skills of Flying Aqua Badger we discovered some disturbing facts.

Although they toured as Jeronimo Johnstone and the Magnificents, this odd band only ever recorded two albums one simply titled Jeronimo and another called Jeronimo with Parachutes under the alias Jeronimo.
However, utilising my agency and ATS security clearance I discovered that these albums in fact were produced by the KGB in an abandoned cold war project of especial malevolence. Each song contains special subliminal MKULTRA messages devised by the evil architect of the project, a fellow codenamed MAGNIFICENT1. This dangerous and cunning fellow retained the master tapes, but not before releasing the records in France where he used the subliminal messages to fleece millions of teenagers out of their pocket money. The callous fiend manipulated them into sending money to a dilapidated donkey sanctuary in Algeria that DID NOT EXIST.

This is the last known photo of the man codenamed MAGNIFICENT1 from the CIA archives circa 1973:

The agency has sketchy intel which has led them to believe, if he is still alive, MAGNIFICENT1 could have had considerable plastic surgery since, but he always retains his trademark moustache.

Perhaps at some stage we the varying stages of the decaying corpse of Marcus Tal have unwittingly crossed or foiled this masterfiend. It is rumoured within the Agency that during late 2001 that MAGNIFICENT1 resurfaced buying a herd of bulls and a genetics laboratory in Colombia. The Colombian Goverment, however, refute these rumours.

To my dehydrated brother may I suggest that you ruminate your military intellect towards a suitable strategy against the dessicated one and his secret masters.

To my readers, and Flying Aqua Badger D. I thank you for your words of support and acts of shelter.

I shall soon publish my much anticipated Phil Hendrie poem, a symbol of love against the DARKNESS...


Friday, January 20, 2006

I live

This is the Cloned Corpse of Marcus Tal speaking:

I have come forth from the shadows to assure the denizens of the internet that I have survived the cowardly attempt on my life. I have been sheltered by a kind blog-ally who shall remain nameless. I should like to thank the kind words of support I have received from people such as Scruffy American, Cocaine Jesus, Gilbert Koh and Sorrow.

Nonetheless, during this time I have been secretly working to identify the mysterious assailant. Tommorow, I will name and unmask the cowardly culprit...

This will be me, all guns blazing. Expect no leniency my would be killer...
Hand Guns

Monday, January 16, 2006

UPDATED From the files of the Tal Shiar Death Squad of the Dehydrated Corpse of Marcus Tal:The Usual Suspects

For all of his mighty precautions the
untimely demise of the
cloned corpse of Marcus Tal has met his
kismet...or has he?

Mere mortals such as yourselves can only wonder which
enemy of the clone could have carried out this act.

A lion of Macedonia?
Not a man who should be crossed lightly.
Does this mean a pre-emptive strike to thwart the Tal Shiar Death Squad?

Many have wondered at what evil lies in the heart of games designers
and many more dont give a damn!
Really can a man who once had a middle name of "Yehaw Dakka! Dakka!" really not be a suspect? Reportedly a hater of the cloned corpse because
Youths would rather listen to poechemy than play with a warhammer

Minor playwrite Nicholas Wright despised the cloned corpse for an
erudite yet utterly damning review that appeared in the Cambrian Times.

You may have heard of the Mighty Destro...well he is fourth on our list.
Originally a member of the band the Killers.
Unmasked at last you can view his visage in the photo below.
Not content with the infamous Rhyll Christmas Massacre is he
Gaining his revenge for the poor sales he blames on the Cloned Corpse?

This strange and viscious fellow, WireWool Mullet,an apparently aspiring poet and adherent to the Chucklebrothers who felt frustrated by the cloned corpse's greatness of a poetic inspiration he could never aspire to, left vile hate comments berating both artist and guests. Could his green eyes of jealousy and red tongue of anger have pushed the mulleted one to extreme results and landmines?

Did you know Margaret Thatcher wears a mask? No? Well, that is because you peons are not meant to know... After an accident with one of the cloned corpse's early nuridium powered cloning tubes in an attempt to prolong Mrs Thatcher's life using a prominent Conserative Party activist's DNA she was hideously transmogrified from this:
Into this with mask:
and without Mask:

She has long vowed bloody this a promise she has finally honored? If so will the dehydrated corpse be safe?

In his broken English Apu de Beaumarchais wrote "I wud hily avise yu to quit bodering my frend Scruffy. don mak me limit your subscrptun to Gigantic Asses magazines". It is known that the cloned corpse replied to this threat on his way too Venice Beach that fateful day. Was his personal reaction too strong and morally upstanding for Mr de Beaumarchais to countenance? What connections does this entrepreneur really have with the Scruffy American? Mr de Beaumarchais is unavailable for comment and is understood to have left the country...

The Arch-Duke of Antiques Tim Wonnacott, Ringmaster of the British Based Clarice Cliff Mob, is well known for a brutal underworld grudge against David Dickinson and the cloned corpse who teamed up to fleece a pair of rare Cuban cigar humidors from his collection to help finance the building of a community centre for poor Venezuelan catholic children. Using blackmail, the Arch-Duke has systematically began to destroy Dickinson's career by forcing him onto I'm a Celebrity Get Me out of Here whilst rationing supplies of his life supporting permatan. With Dickinson a mumbling, broken man has the Arch-Duke now taken extreme and brutal measures against the daring caper's ringleader... the cloned corpse of Marcus Tal?

Wordsmith Queen Neetee received a poem which wasn't very good by the Cloned Corpse's own very high standards, did she take offense at the obvious haste with which it was composed, or the poem about George Galloway & Celebrity Big Brother ? Was her rage and pride stoked enough to snuff out the cloned corpse's candle forever...?

Poet, thinker philosopher, murderer? Could this man's blue bed and grey suit have pushed him headlong into an act of unspeakable random and brutal violence? Or is he merely a red herring ? Who can say ?


Mysterious Alice, first recipient of the cloned corpse's first internet poem. Perhaps she wished to keep this gift of poechemitical pentameter exclusively to herself? Perhaps her boyfriend was jealous and took a passionate, frenzied exception to the fine poetry crafted in her honor? Biding his time, he binded his fury with a landmine and detonator, who can say ? Perhaps they are the new internet Bonny and Clyde on a killing spree of great poets? Cloned Corpse today, Andrew Motion tommorow...

Did Young Faith take the kind and creative words of the cloned corpse the wrong way? Was she horrified of the cloned corpse of a dead man watching her undress before his cloned undead eyes? To these ends was she on the beech that fateful morning practising a variety of poses to consciously catch his attention and make his heavy undead heart explode? Or perhaps another of her site's visitors took exception and decided to wipe out what they saw as the more high brow competition?

Phat Jamie before and after
Phat Jamie, the supposed Lion of Macedonia died in battle, after being betrayed by the Fat Pride Times Editor, with the Tal Shiar Death Squad of the Dehydrated Corpse of Marcus Tal supposedly protecting the good name and reputation of the suspect below:

Supposedly residing in Greece, of hideous countenance and of indeterminate gender the Scruffy American was the first netizen to petition and in their own deluded mind commission the great wordsmith for a poem about legendary Los Angeles Radio Comedian Phil Hendrie. The cloned corpse offered a poem, but in his own time and not under duress, as his art could never be rushed. Consequently Scruffy became a pest and adversary to the cloned corpse's dehydrated state of being. What are this tricky and ugly fellow's motives ? Revenge for failing to get the poem they demanded? Haemaroids? Jealousy ? Alcoholic Dementia? A lack of repect for retired officers of his native country's security services? Did the emergence of a champion in Phat Jamie encourage Scruffy American to new and audacious acts of terror and reprisal which went tragically out of hand in his ongoing bloodfued with the dehydrated corpse of Marcus Tal? Only Scruffy knows the answer...

Robert Mugabe, EVIL Dictator of Rhodesia
He threatened to kill the varying stages of the decaying corpse of Marcus Tal for the inappropriate use of his face on a recently published poem? Has he lived up to his promise? Will the Dehydrated Corpse be next ? Why does he have such a stupid face and moustache?

NEWSFLASH: Strange and Wonderous Ways

Gather round of ye mortals for I have tidings of great tragedy to heap upon the unwashed masses who lurk upon this very Blog.

It is my sad duty to tell you about the strange fate that has fallen upon the Cloned Corpse of Marcus Tal.

My own cloned brother.

The picture above is the last we have of him before his Segway was struck by a missile upon Venice Beach.

The Cloned Corpse was taking his usual 11 o'clock drive upon the beach in search of inspiration for his poechemical work when he was struck down .

We do not known the Clone's current whereabouts or what state he is in.

Does anybody know?

Does anybody care?

Is there significance in the shards of Pike found on the scene?

Only time will tell

Thursday, January 12, 2006

The Inevitable Saturday

This is a picture of her botty

I am between my mother’s canal
I am in need, no words, Sausages are different, Rabbit vibrators are banal
I am the look of my finger and the taste of Lemon Curd
I am in his pants and his big word
I am Mysterious Gothic appeal of a special class
I am prone as I hear him pull my ass
I am tiny pieces of them across many miles
I am Perfect, hairless, baby soft moan and smiles
I am the inevitable Saturday swarming outside
I am a woman who craves every drip; drop off my waist and response.
I am the slit between him, my belly button and my hair
I am an electric orgy in your erotic wheelchair

A Poem by the cloned corpse of Marcus Tal
inspired by the weird and wondeful blog of Naiad

Wednesday, January 11, 2006


The Time for Honoring Yourself Is At An End

Too Just Is The LORD Who Plans In Correct Sentences

Ron Person’s bag of donut, upon my wall I tie
social and time since changing my company
Enjoying books, a neighbor's glass of hospitality
Heil Christmas, everyone and Kreme Krispy
Watching thankful cloned corpse die

Peeling potatoes & collecting platinum Gazoos
Little Blessings and Best Hugs
Bibles, Harry Potter & Tobey Jugs
A multitude of Norwegian John Carews
Planning in correct sentences, too just is the LORD

Declaring the way to travel
More than two places I know or go
Connected by more than mere Texan gravel
Blue freaky, pretty eyes do glow...

A Poem by the cloned corpse of Marcus Tal
inspired by the blog of GayleGirl

Tuesday, January 10, 2006

Facing the Face of RESPECT

Taking back the streets for the law-abiding majority
RESPECT: the human race
The real fruits of a 21st century fable
Crime in the manners’ maze
New Parent Powers in place for a new golden age?
In many television & people sessions,
An adhesive, insipid folly tasting of Peach-Mable
Marking time before his purgatory

Possible new fixed penalty notices and communities
Plans too cumbersome and beyond ANALYSIS
Workers clinical psychologists, community safety officers
Considered opinions of theirs worthless
In the face of RESPECT

Many peoples, THE majority, call stop the Blair
RESPECT sets to a litany of war crimes
In public trust will he climb?
His RESPECT, sham of a liar who justifies killing innocents from the air
RESPECT is not a gimmick, but 'traditional youth justice'
A New Labour crack house RESPECT AGENDA

RESPECT for truth and honesty, a New Labour Pet hate
RESPECT his agenda or share the missings' fate
Helping children in neglect? Latin America in effect?
RESPECT Latin America, RESPECT Latin America
Welcome to the nanny state...

A Poem by the cloned corpse of Marcus Tal

Monday, January 09, 2006

A Picture Never Lies...

The dehydrated Corpse of Marcus Tal savouring a fine glass of brandy after betraying his co-workers to the secret police.
Mock his looks at your peril...

Neetee's Pantry Ladle

Toiling in my kitchen of Kingdom of Heavy Hot Loaves,
Stories of words, can I do. Will you decide to follow ?
Fishermen of hearts, smiths of words and moustacheod Chefs of Stew come far and wide
Heavily spiced prose tasting by way of aromatic Gwendolyn & Swollow
Poured forth into my forge of eclectic literary stoves

Neetee's ladle is finally stirred
no expense is spared, Cutlery and bowls arranged
Exotic stories freshly prepared, far from a common Herd
Expectation's eyelids roll like a gliding bird

A Poem by the cloned corpse of Marcus Tal
inspired by Queen Neetee's Blogtopia 2006

Sunday, January 08, 2006

Modeling to Inline Elements

Ritually to reflector's edge
Like the fine plotting of Falcon's Crest
Potter's clay an undressed shape
A menagerie of poses varying in style
Devouring guest's roses with a smile
Bloggers converge to see Faith's best
Breathe deep before a good night's rest
Between work, studied skills and her chest

A Poem by the cloned corpse of Marcus Tal
inspired by the blog of Young Faith

Saturday, January 07, 2006


Gaze upon the face of The Dehydrated Corpse of Marcus Tal

Using advanced skin care techniques and a phillishave razor the dehydrated corpse is looking as radiant and youthful as ever. Inspired by what he calls my "inexplicable..." poetry the dehydrated corpse of marcus tal successfully lobbied for better housing provisions for homeless LEGO bricks in the Romulan Senate (or so he says).

He looks forward to marauding his way across the internet in 2006 after I surgically graft on his new right leg which he recently bought from ALDI.

Best Wishes and Kind Regards to the totality of humankind...

the cloned corpse of Marcus Tal

The High Imperceptor of Internet Poechemy

Lament for Chatshow Charlie

The 2003 invasion of his leadership contest
And for a time the public share of Chatshow Charlie
from Plymouth to Inverness was the nation blessed
Charlie and chums formed distinctive policies
leaving hopeless Tories vanquished.

Principled stand in the 2001 election.
Principled stand the South West Tories received a pasting
Principled stand in Inverness.
Principled stand in the invasion of the 1920s.
Principled stand unlike Eliott Ness towards Mr Drinking.
Principled stand he intended to quit smoking

But in 2005 of the coming campaigns
Charlie still popular and friendly,
announcing coming electoral gains
there was a sign, on hidden walls, that could end Kennedy

For Charlie had a Mr Drinking in him, although settling in recovery
getting better he said, no need for a breath test
Regardless a bottle of frontbench figures broke him, they said, for the best...
Chatshow Charlie stopping not to think and rest bravely
His battling fondness for reply:
I will not resign, I will fight the contest said embattled Charlie on the telly.

But now Charlie has with honour fallen on his sword
after so unpleasantly being cornered
Chatshow Charlie unfit, or fit, who can say truly say?
However, former allies viscious haste leaves an unpleasant taste.
As through drink, bad judgement and conspiracy
fine politician gone to waste.

A Poem by the cloned corpse of Marcus Tal

Ten Forward States of Ostrich Steak

The states they are not looking at times, psych!
MY logic NOT worth the car, being strong under long travelling road with my cake
I wonder my feet into your name with my spunky backpack
but rather than have principled manner
I invigilate friendly nonsense, rock the mike...

Shipped to Greece in American airfreight
From where daily chores & tasks, a fascination for Clinton's stains
materialist ethics, seedy black leather types and warplanes
lies, regular profanity and obscenity make America great...

Farther, Scruffy is away with this, quoting Patrick Stewart's "make it so"
special Greeks buddys like Phantom Ted, Kosta Kosta and sexy Andreas Papandreou
A mediterranean blog, tasty exported Ostrich steak
garnished in the fart of darkness especially for you...

A Poem by the cloned corpse of Marcus Tal
inspired by the blog of Scruffy American in Greece

Friday, January 06, 2006

Fragmented Cows in Low Rent Pastures

This Blog is monetarily worth nothing
but can anyone alone
put a price on the clone
of a deranged dead man
and their Poechemitcal inspiration?

A fragmented thought by the cloned corpse of Marcus Tal

Prepare to Unleash the Fucking Fury

Perplexedly, this morning BBC talent lists
Galloway, great British people’s defiant political animal,
drowned in a dilemma with bright eyes, joining Big Brother’s freaky carnivale.
Marauding honoured inductees, paid ridiculous fees, entering mediocrity’s far-reaching mists.

Sadly lacking top hat & doormouse in the house,
demented garden party guests comprising
mysterious unknown with big hips, ladies with big tits,
Alam, Lenska, Cross Dressing Rodman,
Maggot, and an embarrassing ladybloke with big lips for our top ENTERTAINMENT and rating hits.

Sadly although no William Theodor Herschel,
at least Galloway & BARRYMORE are controversial
for whilst aqua badgers frenzy on sight at vile attention whores,
think of the children, think of the children,
greedy claws rub…game, set and match

I smell a heist across dull street tops and tainted facts,
for as different audiences could think them incredibly famous,
the poor deluded lambs, an entertainment edition of lamest obscene acts.

Mercantile telephony scam of the darkest mission.
However, according to international law,
isn’t it New Zealand’s moral responsibility to hold a three week inquest,
discover all the facts, pray halt this televisual rendition ?

Judgment and God’s wrath
will rehabilitate celebrity outcast liars,
prying young eyes and corporate crooks
providing deserved charity so cruel on cheese wires and hooks,
giving George last laugh.

Because, unless on first opportunity,
Blair and his tainted cronies move swiftly,
George unleash the fucking fury with clarity.

A poem by the cloned corpse of Marcus Tal

Thursday, January 05, 2006

Perpetual Traction Chuckle Engine

Do you know Chucklevision, do you ?!
High profile moral comedy
spreading its message from Rotherham, South Yorkshire,
Inspiration & Jersey.

Gilded teeth like white mercedes,
sporting fine mullets for gentlemen & ladies,
timeless slapstick champions fighting comedy's malaise,
are brothers two.

Opposed to scowling cheeks of disbelieving Jackanapes,
brothers Paul and Barry tickle comedy critics and cognoscenti,
Geoff Capes left overnight in starch and Illuminati.

The cultural superiority of these enlightened knows
"Goodness Gracious Me", "Little Britain" & "The Royal Family"
are pale shadows in the cornershop window of comedy.
Lacking Chuckle's Vision and marquee of costumed canine bestiality,
are these 'shows' actually supposed to be funny ?

Secrets adepts of the grande frommage,
the Brother's range is a lollipop jackpot.
For with unstinting social realism and life,
Paul and Barry as clock menders with the farmer's wife,
French Walloons, prize vegetables,
priceless rubies and helium baloons,
there is no short change in their exclusive tv slot.

A Poem by the cloned corpse of Marcus Tal
inspired by the comedy brilliance of the Chuckle Brothers

Wednesday, January 04, 2006

At Midnight Demanding Entry

Its words. Flowing how some people
free their giant dragon kites
into the sky's blue everything.
Trees softening in sky's flame of wind.
Yet, all day in Singapore, there can be another way.
Some remain forgotten, and others should know better.

Yet through shuttered windows, a barred pale yellow heart is burning,
a varied candle amongst others at midnight's doorstep.
Oblivious to a thousand irrelevant things,
it dreams of sports, freedoms, dwarfs and fairies.

On the tenth floor of years overheard,
a bloody drink of pictures, and tableau of word.
It has an architecture,forged from freedom's anvil,
small and soft, unlike material towers,
whilst beating on midnight's door
with inevitability's scalpel.

A poem by the cloned corpse of Marcus Tal

inspired by the
superb poetry of Gilbert Koh

Wonder Ninth: A Poem for Starbender

Can you count to their Pictorial musings,
for personal pleasure?

Avante, Avante,
bumb, bumb, Beumarchais sit tight.
For as the Goat can be a devil’s slate roof,
Starbender is to rights.
Without ulterior economic motive,
or ownership of the beginning...

For as a Noun is a PICTURE like
Sprite Trees & Bitter Pills,
Paul Atreides & Mentat Mushrooms,
Steel Teeth & Fishnet Stockings,
Weirding modules & Cloris Leachman’s teeth...

For hark, if you hear Sardukar the beaked dog's song
"If you Place & claim burritos stuffed of youth
to offend or disgrace anyone…
or a THOUSAND WORDS in a multiverse of pixels...
HOT BLIGGITY! A Starbender is at Work!"

A poem by the cloned corpse of Marcus Tal

inspired by the visions and hallucinations of Starbender

Tuesday, January 03, 2006

Hasselhoff: Smiling Martyr of Toast

The best picture that was ever!
Be written with lawns awash
with respect and show us your fans,
glorious choruses playing, of course with your fans
grand songs of Germanic splendour.

We tried to find out, Dave
Happy Dave Mulleted Dave, our Amazon Hoff
We adore your gentle hands
But most of all a wee in the Offical David Hasselhoff paper airplane

We adore you and Kitt filming Knight Rider.
Then into an elephant you cut a glider.
To David's thong, in paper airplane, retrieving a god.

Understand, The Hasselhoff is a living legend.
No words to in an email receive his hairy manliness.
If you want to see the Hasselhoff, send an elephant
and pray to receive email updates.

For Dave resides in lands where shielded from danger
by heavy chaffing brown hair,
he cannot freely share both muscular body
or mystical Hasselhoff Square.

Oh lord, drop down your David Hasselhoff stories.
Oh Hasselhoff, where shielded from danger by brown hair,
or deluded so-called fan's, who take the piss, shoddy internet broswers
Remember Dave, you are not trousers...

A Poem by the cloned corpse of Marcus Tal
inspired by the brilliance of David Hasselhoff

Monday, January 02, 2006

A Neon Buzzard Soars

He nursed nervously smoothing imaginary wisps of
candles and he loosened his gloved old hands.
The underside of a Troll's lair
is no shelter from the cold.

He stared without seeing.
A trolley rattled past,
if conjured like a fresh poem
written of fresh fish, liquer, and dogs on strings.

The shelf of snow everywhere is delicate,
a coruscating patchwork of the dimly lit,
whilst a lively young girl's great mind is leaving
slowly wrestling a conundrum,
She claimed she grasped,
painted steel, muttering in her lips.

The steady gaze of winter's sky is a witness
as like a neon Buzzard her soul climbs.
The door leading to her Light flickering,
Full of hope...

From allies and pathways, she left and disappeared
In his ebony pathways, the receiver,
with his cupped hand took her slim fingers cradling.
Heaven's doors, finally they split
as the Neon Buzzard soared.

A poem by the cloned corpse of Marcus Tal

Inspired by the poetry of The Poemcat Sue Hardy-Dawson

One Time with their Minds, I seek a Home for My Comments

At keeping up an assortment of the morning,
It looks so, my son was hip enough of scrimmage
He read the Memoirs of a Guru.
It finally got me interested
and concerned about our image.

The hair!
To work, to his pants and socks!
Is this going to dress up the movie?
and is corporal punishment gonna rock?

How cute is me!
On sound so sick.
I hope I was singing in G!

For I post a little fun...
And some time...seriously
Who will be elected to a public gate? Your Mum?
No, you thats who, my Guru.

For although an obtuse referral to and struggle with it still you must,
BlogMad is enough of the original movie,
For as the I before E in me is just.

Please also know this as a Brucey bonus
surely as cows in green pastures cows moo,
as we are fighting sickness in a Comment's home
across Columbus, Ohio, United States...
see my stillers dismantle the lucky ones too.

A Poem by the Cloned Corpse of Marcus Tal

inspired by the Guru:

Sunday, January 01, 2006

Manage by Geography: A Poem

But not an easy task is this.
For I am drawing the project cycles
coated in John Wagner's aura,
his balls resting on Clean Firetrucks
rather then merely dropping to left of them.

The work during this,
is the net you visit,
and I inhabit.

For although you may be a mere surfer,
Yet my return as an explorer of ideas
is in finding an amazing blogger.

Then basically put, ignored, or then treated as throwaways by many bloggers.
I note that middle good of their subjects,
laminating project cycles and wooly schemata,
upon each of their perambulating problema.

For you see I have a secret approach,
Given to me by GURU my coach, I manage by geography,
using my intellectual might to judge, fight
and sometimes flee.

For when I unveil the attitude which challenges the rough, personal,
finance-types and their attention rights.
I am really a normal guy with strange ideas,
not an anthropomorphic flying aqua badger in spandex tights.

But perhaps one day, who knows
they might hear dear Flying Aqua Badger.
Whose end business takes these crazy purposes,
on an exploratory traversal up a sphinxter.

A Poem by the cloned corpse of Marcus Tal

Inspired by the writings of internet communications guru
D. of the Flying Aqua Badgers

The Movie it has Slipped a Wiff of the Lion: A poem about Hollywood this Christmas (or any holiday season)

The Movie it has Slipped a Wiff of the Lion

At times in relation
to a more than confusingly laid out fridge.
There are some American audiences
to whom Camembert is as blood red
as the see-sawing King Kong monkey on top the world.

With my sobriety more audibly and visually comprised
than a drowning child's.
To a variety of the Internet Movie Database
the kid's screams were realised as Narnia's song
at least as most.

For, as many shit establishments produce their food,
we are meaningless, to their logic...
As the songs of Narnia and Skull Island
are a Festive Message

For although Batman, Batman, all is well...
Aslan's slipped wiff smells
of more than one undernourished pixel.

A poem by the cloned corpse of Marcus Tal

A Poem for the lovely Alice: Fly In The Wrong Answer

Fly in the Wrong Answer.

The Almighty, then
being angry at cinema times,
flying father of the Lord
of those who is pretty standard knowledge,
but really ...
sometimes who does forget and digress this situation.

Unless a Hasbro has been going on,
work of the sodding birthday,
While a short note of digression,
is really like a moment of flight
bartered with the counters of the kitefish lord,
which it is preferable to spend all my failure?
I seek to know these answers


If all my by my own I braved the game
which is designed, with instead suggestions,
that tomorrow my previous posts will be happy,
and that my new boyfriend seeks.

Should I quest forth as to whether
a people towards a Trivial Pursuit
doth move?

A Poem by The Cloned Corpse of Marcus Tal

Alice, tell your friends and fellow bloggers of my wordsmithery and I shall bestow upon them the gift of poetry.

To the dehydrated corpse of Marcus Tal, you may find this of amusement:






If you use one link with the other, you can find the person on the board...