Poetry from Ian Copestick

True Crime

Watching true
crime
programmes
at 11:30 p.m.

I've always
enjoyed
seeing these
things.

It makes me
realise that
no matter how
screwed up my
life may be, at
least I haven't
been murdered,
or murdered
anyone,
yet.

My life hasn't
got THAT bad.

So I really haven't
hit rock bottom,
yet.


Have I ? 
I Expect Too Much


Just looking
through crap,
on my phone.

Stories about
people, so - called
celebrities, most
of them I have never
heard of.

And I've noticed
that nearly all of
the supposedly
attractive women,

they all look the
same, or at least
very similar. It's
like there's a factory
somewhere, churning
them out.

I can't see any
difference between
them. They all seem
to have the same eyes,
the same plucked eye
brows. The same lips
pumped full of shit.

The same Botox filled
zombie expressions.
And the same empty
minds.

I'd love for one of
these pointless
butterflies to prove
me wrong.

If just one of them
had read Dostoevsky,
or Celine, even Kerouac,

or had written a few
poems of their own.

Not even that, just
some little thing to
show that they've got
a working brain of
their own.

Perhaps I expect too
much. 

2 thoughts on “Poetry from Ian Copestick

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.