Biography
Poet, kick boxer and recently defrocked Catholic priest Billy is the baddest man in poetry. Rooted firmly in St Helens working class culture Billy’s poetry is guaranteed to relieve embarrassing itching , shrink painful piles and remove unwanted facial hair. In fact his poetry is so cheap if you can find it cheaper any where else he will refund your difference A former glass worker Billy travelled throughout the UK as a DJ, radio presenter, bit part actor and international jewel thief. Having recently returned to his home town of St Helens Bill appears regularly at Originality. In fact who can forget his debut when he had to be practically dragged of stage by Dam Robinson. This man is bad. Catch him quick before he goes soft and buys his council house. NB the produces of the site wish it to be known that any reference to persons living, dead or fictional is purely coincidental.
Samples
The Poet Launderette Oh, laundromat Rita my clothes smell much sweeter my head's in a pre-rinse spin my heavy soiled heart got a quick wash kick-start as you made sure my whites were all in Every non-fast coloured hour with your fully loaded power makes me hanker for a quick wash with you My heavily soiled Y's yearn for your bio-softener's concern gentle action on my delicate life's due What I'd give for a quick tumble fast or economy; either, I'm humble would drop all my coins in your slot All my cotton white dreams Of your skin- tight blue jeans let me know Rita, cus I'm running too hot Come Hear My Cry Come Hear My Cry We come from everywhere And we come from nowhere Our bodies broken Our minds destroyed Our innocence erased We are the faceless ones you'd rather forget We did not choose our position Nor do we seek retribution That is for the victim And yes we hurt ourselves Yes we filled our veins with chemicals Cut and maimed our skin Drank ourselves into oblivion But my friend we stand as witness To all the horror heaped upon us and those who are no longer here T ouched by the hand of God We sing a song of innocence A song of people who will not be hurt again The power of our forgiveness Casts shadows over your evil For we are the survivors We are the strong Unbowed and unblemished Our spirit a beacon of hope A light in the deepest blackest night Shining for those who are no longer with us And yet have never left us We come from everywhere And we come from nowhere Yes we are the survivors The Mouse Late one night I saw a mouse Inside our house In the kitchen alone A single solitary mouse Inside our house alone. Power and Might Power and might with god on his side He just kept on although I cried For him to stop my childhood pain I tried and tried I tried in vain to be at one with hopes and dreams Of childlike things but no one seems To know the terror felt inside power and might and god on his side. He is so right and I 'm so wrong And no one hears the children's song Of innocence and desperate prayer Does no one hear or give a care To rescue me from evils grasp To make this night the very last I shall endure the hurt and fear Of blessed reverend father dear. So just keep quite and just be good Like all good catholic children should Don't tell the evil this man does Because his god is watching us That's what our teacher said in class And what that devil said at mass I still remember to this day To rot in hell his soul I pray So when you hear your children cry And see the glint in father's eye Don't dare ignore the warning signs Or cover up these awful crimes That he commits with evil lust Speak out speak out you know you must Stand up stand up with adult pride With power and might and god on your side. Anne In the space between your lies and my pain I find the truth That you no longer need me. You ask for space When its distance you want From your heart to mine. I'm now just an arms length friend And I know its over. Its not me you say When it really is. The distance between us a Berlin Wall Of chilled aching silence. Blocking the sun that once warmed our love. The hopes ,dreams and plans we had A mere diversion as you plan your escape And I know its over I know its over when your smile becomes a dagger Your words a poison chalice And your embrace a collar of barbed wire There's nothing left I'm losing you And I know it's over. Its Over Last week my poem got sick and died The times we laughed The times we cried I remembered them all The day he died Last week my pen in all its grief Dried up of ink And self belief She wrote good bye But kept it brief Last week my words deserted me They walked away For all to see They are no more So let it be Wandering Star When night time comes I walk the streets minutes turn to hours avenue to streets searching, always searching. My anonymity shelters me Cloaked in darkness I am driven onward, shunning the crowds, living in shadows........ I search I desire no company nor love or affection, just peace and shelter from this driven passion to search As the new day rises I return to my home and close the door begging no calls rung no calls to say hello My life is solitude I, a lonely being with no desire for love am driven to search for what I do not know.... but search I must As comforting darkness again invitingly falls I will once again walk the streets in solitude...... forever searching something else What to do when a life is wasted When hope has died and dreams have faded The steel iced blue of your tears and the shape of your pain let you know its over. With a pill on your tongue and a prayer on your lips you wonder who cared did anyone hear you scream your last breath and fading heartbeat un noticed by a world too busy Would anyone really care Enough to cry Enough to ask the question why Not really For now it is too late Goodbye my friend goodbye
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