Author: resarfpoetry

resarfpoetryhttps://resarfpoetry.wordpress.com
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just delivered

…

another ransom note
that i’ll never bloody pay

old joseph bloggins
has kidnapped my young goat

a letter from my penpal
from yon fifteenth century

written with a quill
upon the eve of bosworth

a farmfoods flyer
but i prefer iceland

that’s where mum went
to see the volcanoes

a postcard with a cryptogram
a caesar cypher code

from her with the fake nose
glasses, tache combo

psst with a nod’s wink
syncing like stopwatches

plus three orange pips
from the k.k.k

in the mail today

…

unwritten light

…

shafts of the dark stuff
cut like shoulder blades

unwritten light
brightness blights my way

tree bark troubadour
who could ever remedy

the memory hole
& the turnpike’s toll?

pain is biting now
mouthfuls of me

mothballed misery
is company & cumbersome

spirals spin in your
half arsed smile

funny like a sunday
mind your own farmhouse

rearrange faces
float, if possible

pickled onion underling
infinity chaffinch

…

you never ate the world

…

you never ate the world
you barely ate a clod

sod all really, deary
but oh – you bloody moan

woe is me with bells on
cripes – end this tripe & write

a song beyond cliché
we all know feathers are light

& repetition can help
& repetition can help

but can be a distraction
but can be a distraction

so come on ducky, don’t suck
yesterday’s sour milkshake

your carton’s empty now
soon all your friends will purr

please see beyond your arse cheeks
et cetera beckons

…

( we never talk about )

…

the ice cream van man’s meltdown

the town crier’s tonsillitis

the french lieutenant’s wombat

the history student’s past

the pantomime cow’s trapped gas

the belly dancer’s ulcer

the night the contortionist snapped

how train spotters let off steam

the broken english teacher’s toe

the spanish onion dicer’s tears

the candlemaker’s waxen ears

…

a note at the back

…

a poem for the sleeping earth

another paper plane to crash

in morning light, the shooting stars

become a silent poltergeist

the garden sings in jangled keys

the compost heap releases gas

alas & bless the second ess

in s.o.s – then d.i.y

yes, bolt each hole – your hermitage

awaits – escape the winter’s gape

( please process when available )

…

number ‘neath the arches

…

twenty nine letters
in the anglo-saxon alphabet

twelve buttercups in each
square foot of the garden lawn

thirty four chapters
to read in treasure island

thirty six black keys on
a standard grand piano

five white stars
on the flag of christmas island

seven magpies
in an untold secret

a billion rovers
in the doggo phonebook

ten green bottles
in no one’s favourite song

& fifteen lines of sigh
in the baker’s latest sonnet

…

( author notes )

i hate all sonnets

i find them annoying

& pointless

f.t.r, so y’know

…