Author: resarfpoetry

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tiny foldable ditties

~

tiny foldable ditties ( seittid elbadlof ynit )

…

sing a song of epics stunted
written by a flea with glee

spittle spurts of verses blunted
penned or pencilled spidery

scribbles tucked within a pocket
kissing keys & chiming there

rhymes inside a little locket
nestled with the pubic hair

of a lover or a stranger
or beneath a dunce’s cap

musicals on scraps of paper
crumpled odes that overlap

not a novel or a cycle
not a sonnet – spank the lord

just the custard of a trifle
– this is where the treasure’s stored
…

shat’s all folks

~

shat’s all folks ( sklof lla s’tahs )

…

sing a song of unsung

with a tungsten tongue

bee a beast of burden

’til the seed is dung

spinning in the stillness

swimming in the cack

light another candle

brighten up the black

flippin’ ‘eck – it’s morning

flying like a fly

fuckin’ ‘ell – it’s evening

time is swirling bye

let’s begin again then

chase another tale

once upon a stumble

so the glowing pale

spark another roll-up

lark a flaccid wing

whistle in the doldrums

’til the winter’s spring

as the jammy dodgers

scribble on with glee

parping in the parlour

fart-luh-laar-luh-lee

i’m up in the attic

gawping at the wall

waiting for minerva

– writing bugger all

…

census & sensibility

~

census & sensibility ( ytilibisnes & susnec )

…

is your castle a home

or is your home a castle?

were you born as broccoli?

can you spell your middle names?

when was your last dump

& did it flush in one?

do you like marmite?

what’s your spirit womble?

is a caterpillar

technically a butterfly?

?sdrawkcab daer uoy nac

do you feed the pigeons?

is your god a parsnip?

do you piss in rivers

& throw stones at clouds?

fill each box

with a tick of a cross

or a dash of a dot

or we’ll see you in court

was your job a job?

how many barn owls

live in your shed?

do you speak martian?

( best before the twenty first )

…

hill fog yourself

~

hill fog yourself ( flesruoy gof llih )

…

greetings, view-consuming gloom
blowing on your morning horn

roaming shapes of speckled wraith
whisping of a wanderlust

breathing sheets of breathless still
silent like a walking corpse

yonder is a leafless tree
or a headless horseman’s horse

wonders one & ponder on
with my tracing paper eyes

scribbles in my wonky bonce
squinting in the gasping gaps

as the smoking low cloud’s feet
plods upon the sodden ground

i’m a floating ghost in you
– eater of vistas

…

the banksy job

~

the banksy job ( boj ysknab eht )

…

masked like a gimp

with a bass-blurred voice

like the andy mcnab

of spray paint

~

bristol’s little boy

milks the sop of soy

the sum of several men

nice one, tarquins

~

rar-rar art

rinse that stencil work

pisspot psy-op

pound signs fly around

~

dollars & shekels

sherbert & shandy

in a big, fat villa

on the costa del crim

~

his brand name’s

coined by the tabloids

scamping all the normies

& oh, so woke

~

loved by the bad

feared by the good

fuck this double speak

modern robin hood

…

while my bellend gently weeps

~

while my bellend gently weeps ( speew yltneg dnelleb ym elihw )

…

i staggered by
clutching crackled ribs

swearing like a nun
in the snare of lententide

crocuses croaked
spring drabbed in dribs

daffodils danced
by the side of the ode

so serpents stirred
where the green grass gleamed

curtains still twitched
in the little weasel village

busybodies bullshat
butchers bitched shit

bakers burnt cakes
& hot cross buns

candlemakers waxed
like a blooming gibbous moon

as the road forked forth
like a runcible spoon

scamdemics wane
– this way or twat?

normalz dodged nothing
but the lepers in their heads
…