Tales of the Eye.

       
 
 

Hi, my name is Emily Reilly. In the final days of capsule hosting I became known as the poet of the eye. These were crazy hazy days, hosting was in its final lament and the secret squirrels were taking over. To many it became a time of contemplation, to look back over the summer and to look forward to new challenges and adventures.Here are some of the thoughts of those magnificent men/women in their flying machines, brought to you in the unique style of prose.
It's all good, but check out my favourites
The ruination of my life (Chris Kennedy).
Ode to the capsule host (Emily Reilly.
The End (A Rap) (Kenny Salami)

 
     
Poets of the Eye read their own work (just click on a head)
Manson-Bahr
Big Ben Nelson
It's Kate Palmer
The ever lovely, Emily Reilly
A farewell to real security.
Gutter snipe Chris Kennedy
Give it up for the Salami BoysGive it up for the Salami Boys
Gone, but not forgotten, Kat
       
 
 

Hi everyone, Bootox here, Ian Bootox to you.
I'll be reading the rest of this poetry for you, enjoy....

Untitled By Louise Dixon

To all my friends I now shall boast
I was a London eye capsule host
I dealt with those afraid of heights
And pointed out my amazing sights
Was friendly, helpful, full of wit
They loved my job, every bit
From dawn till dusk I got around
But now without a single sound
No shrieks of joy as I reach my peak
As I'll be gone this time next week

I've had 300 rides or more
The exact amount I'm not quite sure
There's been corporate capsules and business men
Small boy scouts all aged ten
Every capsule has had a ball
Rotating, spinning I've done it all
And shouting what a fantastic town
I say, just wait, we're going down


Step your mind inside a capsule
Its not alright inside
The doors are closing, clear
Its going
Welcome to the darkness
To escape the sadness
An amazing flight is your plight
Run, run, run, fly?
No comfort, safety in your flight
Round, round, round
Directions and facilities cannot be found
Push the button, watch the telly
All end in safety found
In the pound

Jake Diener


Dreams of the open air   by Alex (tall) Stevens

I like the look of that balloon
I'll have to get a job there soon!
It always looks so nice and calm
Not like this big funny farm
Look at the way it floats in the breeze
Up and down with the greatest ease
I must apply for a job there soon
That lovely big, stripy balloon


Thoughts    by Alex (lanky) Stevens

As the piercing sun starts to rise
I can see our shadow in the river
The ripples making me shiver

The horizon glows with places I'd rather be
Over there somebody thinks the same about me?
Seeing the towers reaching for the sky
I start to sigh,
Thoughts of places to which those planes fly

Then I reflect on  what I saw
I think,
Shit man! I gotta get out more


children, children gather round
I am going to tell you a tale that goes back
To my time on London Eye
Now in those days the world was flat
The Thames was straight and the dome out west
Buckingham Palace stood out east but Windsor
Castle did not yet exist,
Both males and females had no brains
And capsule hosts were sent insane

By Lucinda


The general public   by Alex ( long) Stevens

The general public make my day
 On the surface, anyway
In my head, the voices say;
You stupid, dumb-arse pricks

The obese yank with the camcorder,
Trying to bring his kids in order
Doesn't know I'm on the border of getting a
nervous tick

The office workers, the office dirt
The fat legged tart in the mini skirt
Spend their time trying to flirt
I think I'm gonna be sick

The German tourist with a map
Is this far away from getting a slap!
"It's the wrong way around you piece off crap!"
you're getting on my wick

blokes from Lambeth, those funny men
get on board and act about 10
if I hear that joke again
they 're gonna get a kick

Thank god we're getting to the end
I'm being driven round the bend
By the last rotation I always tend
To despise those public pricks


Enter if you dare    by Lucinda

Welcome aboard BA's London Eye
Mind your step
Walk right on in and take a seat and let us begin
Now now my friends this ride takes 30 minutes
In that time I will torture and abuse you
Laugh at you ignorance
Pity your looks
For all of you are ugly shits
One question to you sir, did you wash this morning
And you –you little boy have you shat your pants
And to you kind sir – just one thing
Socks and sandals are so not in
And to you all one final thing
North, south, east, west, do you comprehend?


Death - Paul Cutting

Tourists of every nationality,
Causing me to lose my sanity,
Building up, a heated brutality,
Oh Fuck!, blown it, first fatality.

Asking me how many times I go around,
Bang, bloodied dome, sprawled on the ground,
Nobody make another fucking sound,
Or against the glass, your head, I'll pound.

Two gone, twenty three to go,
Crack against the bench, syrupy blood flow,
People vomiting, a claret-filled show,
As they topple, I positively glow.

Can't see out the window, clots of red,
As we reach the top, over half a dead,
There's the fucking dome, I violently said,
Pulling one in that direction, ripping off his head.

Hacking the dull bods, a murderous demonstration,
Killed them form here and every fucking nation,
On their backs, on all fours, a bloody-
flecked Battersea Power Station.

And as I reach the platform, not another sigh
Shredded torsos, many a blood tom thigh,
Clipboard sees me as I slide by,
A complicitous smile lingers in his eye.


Sex     By Paul Cutting

Fingers clasp the bridge of my nose
Head pounding, mind in the throws,
Of a tearful lamentation on the fate bestowed,
To those fine bodied humans, once draped in purple clothes.

Wheel, we gave you our sweat, our souls, our shit,
our time, our minds, our energy,
true grit,
Devotion, emotion, every single bit,
My fluids, my blood, my juices, my spit.

And in return, what have we received?
Can we claim we've been deceived ?
Not really, I suppose, now its been decreed,
And my sanity thanks me, some what relieved.

I'm exhausted, depleted, in need of relaxation,
It's unfortunate that now I just feel frustration,
Sat on the capsule, to be met with remonstration,
If I talk, read, or attempt masturbation.

But I keep thinking about sex on the wheel,
A hot juicy thing to make my bins squeal
Every part of my body she will eagerly feel
Spurting like an orange which you roughly peel

The phallic tubes of the wheel have pushed me to perversion
The purple head of a lit Tate offers no diversion
This ride no longer a pleasant excursion
I need to get off, my pants they're a bursting

But the only ride I get is on the London Eye
Truly, its enough to make me cry
Furthermore, let me tell you why
There'll be no more rides for me, as we say goodbye


Mummy, mummy where's the dome?
Mummy, mummy I want to go home!
Mummy, mummy I need a wee
Mummy, mummy I done a pee
Mummy, mummy I see a boat, plane, bus
Mummy, mummy why we stop
Mummy, mummy we at the top?
No darling we have yet to take off!

By Lucinda


A trip from Rotherham for the day

Up to London, round the eye
I'm so excited
Got my ticket
Queue for 30mins
Then some turnstiles
This is hard for me
Put the ticket in
Take it out
Then what do I do?
No wonder I cannot tell when we are at the top!


Lucinda

As unemployment looms
British airways booms
As capsule hosts perish
BA relish
As their finances rise
Ye old hosts do cry

But ….
Future months will see
BA's fortunes waning
As the public starts complaining
And the hosts will rise again!


Time to change the record

The palaces, the towers, the rivers bend,
Will this mind job ever end?
Even when I get back down to ground,
I think of wheels spinning round

The only way to change this song
Is to make it up as I go along!!
They're only tourists, they'll never know
After all, I'm running this show!

"Hello people, I am your host.
Don't interrupt now, I know more than most!"
The doors are shutting, no where to hide,
I can't wait to take you for a ride

You'll notice the windows are bomb- proof glass
Now I'm talking out my arse
What if there's a bomb-scare, say?
The capsule grows legs and it runs away! Honest

Excuse me sir is that St Paul's?
No, that's where they draw the lottery balls
And see that tower over there,
That's built in the shape of Tony Blair
On a clear day you can see the queen
Early in the morning, that view's quite obscene

The other way is the isle of Dogs
Where the queen got all her royal mogs
There's the worlds first edible spire
Shut up mate, you've an outrageous liar
I've lived in London since I was nine
And never heard such crap in all my time!

Oh damn, it looks like I've been sprung
Time for me to make a run!
Look mate it's just a summer job
But if you do complain, my names Bob!


That capsule      by Roger

Oh no! the doors are closing
Are we safe in here!
Well, I guess so, everyone seems content
Could we have some duty free?
At the top I used to say
Up we go to heights unknown
St Paul's, BT tower and all
We are at the top!
Eastward, Canary Wharf
More like a shuttle at lift off mode
Westward Buckingham Palace,
 well within the trees
And many more sights as We go round
Southward, bridges as the river bends round
Is that north London
No that's west
I cannot get my bearings
Well so do I find as I settle down
We are about to disembark


Jake Diener

British Airways London Eye
The biggest pie in the sky
All it does is round and round
But its not at all sound
The capsule creaks
Is all very hot
The one above leaks
And doesn't stop
When we're at the top
Its at a gallop
Down below
It's all to slow
A tyre falls into the Thames
We all get fired and come back hired


In the mind of a capsule host

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh
I can't stand it anymore
Round and round and round
Does it never stop?
Let me out, I need out!
I must get down from here
Where's the door? I search for the door
It's locked. It's automated. It wouldn't let
me at liberty because I don't have control of it
Enclosed all around enclosed
Glass, what could be worse than glass
All around the clarity of what I crave and can not have.
Dry land, to walk on dry land
Down, to get down and stay down
Oh bliss, here it comes, the platform
I must get out, I need out.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

I'm sucked in again, no friends
No one to talk to
When would this ever end
Ringing, dreadful ringing
What? Where? Huh?
The alarm! Its Sunday
A dream, only a dream.
A bad dream, a freaking nightmare!!!!!!!!!


Oops    by Jole Midda

When I came back from holiday
I was looking forward to getting my pay
I arrived back in the arvo
And started work the day after tomorrow
On the wheel turning turning
And still in my stomach, the beer was churning
I felt like I was going to be sick
And scanning around for the medical kit
I grabbed and used a fat ladies skirt
And wiped my mouth with an old blokes shirt
The smell was getting worse and worse
I hurled again and used her purse
We were at the top and going down
Everybody was starting to frown
The people in the pod were stating to worry
And I was praying that the pod would hurry
At the other side of the pod, an old dear passed out
Causing her aggressive husband to screech and shout
He started blaming it all on me
Then a little girl screamed" I need to go pee"
I was thinking that things were getting out of hand
Until a guy in the corner said I've got a plan
In blue and red stood the man
A bird, a plane, no it was superman
He slurped up the puke and the rest of the bulk
And swallowed it down with one big gulp
It wasn't the smallest thing he'd done
Cos it gave him a bout of indigestion
He farted so hard that it broke the glass
And ripped a hole in hiss hairy ass
With all the embarrassment, he flew off to recover
With a bowl of chicken soup and a Soho lover
No more of my story it is starting to bore me
Clipboard- capsule 8
Fucking need a break!


Lucinda

Why is that capsule empty?
When do we see the Dome?
Can we see Tower Bridge?
Can we please go home?

Is that station Waterloo?
Is that the Eiffel Tower?
Can we tilt this pod?
Why is she on her bed?

Where is Canary Wharf?
Hey look at all those dwarfs
Why are we reversing?
Why is she not conversing?

Look at all those tyres
And have you seen those wires?
Just look at that ladder
Oh shit- my bladder!

Look I have seen Buckingham Palace
And now I see the dome
But why oh why does she sit alone?


Travis re-written   by Rob Pondebury/Finan

I can see my home
It's a mess but the curtains are drawn
Oh how we laugh
I'm a funny guy
But who the hells that bloke writing poems?

Why does he always ride the wheel
Does he not care we're at 450 feet
Why does he always ride the wheel
I think it must be because he has no friends

Are we at the top
Oh my god I think we just stopped
We're gonna die
On the London Eye
You know I think that poet is a spy

Why does he always ride the wheel
Does he not care we're at 450 feet
Why does he always ride the wheel
I think it must be because he has no friends

Oh he must be lonely
God he looks so lonely
I'll ask him how many times he goes round