…
elon’s musk
is deep deer undertones
with fragrant shades of otter
& subtle hints of badger
( can you smell it too? )
…
Author: resarfpoetry
historical horticultural
…
tudor rose garden
a julius cedar tree
genghis carnation
…
upon a sodden morning plod
…
another daze on muddle earth
around the sound of browning turf
another death, another birth
a beetle’s back, a heaving clod
the eventide, the onion’s skin
a ghost within a stroking chin
the see y’ then in let’s begin
the splash is back, the path is trod
a green retreat, the gist of so
a smoker stubs his little toe
the roar is but the river’s flow
& strucken like a lightning rod
the day’s awash – a roaming sea
a badger in a bladder’s scree
is wazzing on the ash’s tree
& sinking with a winking nod
the breezes wheeze the cheese’s chalk
& ponder as the corvids squawk
the bend is yet another fork
an odyssey in socks of odd
a scattering of chatter’s brain
a bucket load o’ soaking rain
& fuck it’s pissing on again
upon a sodden morning plod
…
puddles
…
episodic ponds
shrinking beneath the sun’s beams
as above’s below
a fish for a gnome
a lake for water boatman
a sea for a flea
why the umbra turned
a darker shade of gloomy
over bill’s mothers
the shape of what was
the then of when the sky wept
the spillage is this
piddle of the gods
offspring of the isobars
liquid cats & dogs
the aftershaft’s splash
silver under blooming blue
splosh in green wellies
…
let’s
…
let’s write a poem
& bore them all rigid
let’s sing a song
in the key of skeleton major
let’s catch a bus
or a hypersonic tram
let’s collect stamps
from stampeding wildebeest
let’s swim with dolphins
– narwhals & krakens
let’s ride an old bike
– a penny farthing or katie price
let’s paint a scene
an acrylic photograph
let’s eat noodle soup
& stain the linen tablecloth
let’s plant bulbs
( daffodil & halogen )
let’s go window shopping
& buy a wooden sash
let’s walk the moors
& plod beneath the grey
let’s pretend it’s tomorrow
we haven’t got all day
…
night quiz
…
but can the foxes foxtrot
– perhaps a raunchy rumba?
& is the blue moon stilton
– cambazola or buxton?
do barn owls barn dance too
& sometimes roost in sheds?
& if so – are they barn owls
or “shed owls” then instead?
why’s the sun invisible?
where the eff’s it gone?
do the dead snore?
do birds dream they’re human?
do shooting stars shoot blanks?
how do those vampires shave
– as mirrors won’t do shit?
are ghosts afraid of us
– the quizzical insomniacs
who amble, stroking chins?
how do bats fly upright?
is the plough a question mark?
– what is the question?
wonders the sky out loud
sounding off again
– belt it up, orion
…
the war in france
…
the war in france, the secret war
is shushy-shush – so say no more
it must be grim for all of those
albanians to flee in droves
the frightened men of fighting age
that flee what’s left of death’s rampage
it’s terrible – what can we do
as paris burns & lyon too?
i’ll wave a flag – so all can see
the bravery in humble me
the stunningness in little i
who shall become a butterfly
i’ll jab the kids & wear a frock
i’ll buy some tits but keep me cock
& bend the knee for all who come
the ones that flee the beating drum
of racist climate change’s blitz
they’ll stay forever in the ritz
the dorchester & council flats
throughout this land of bowler hats
of sausage rolls & banging pots
they’ll live with us – we’ll have the lot
beside the thames, the trent, the tyne
or in your house but not ’round mine
…
just about everyone
…
antediluvian
& uncle atlantis
sister cistern
overflowing
father than you think
or a country mile
mother flutter
– moths or butterflies
brother blubber
then green bottles
hang like a bat nap
on the garden walrus
son on the horizon
bishop & away
daughters all & waterfalls
twilight cousins
doctor photographs
professor profess
captain whistle
sergeant owardness
missus the target
& mister riverbank
all organic
non-conformists
…
better out than ( dot-dot-dot )
” mmm danone “
( the danone marketing department )
…
a greeny green frog
from the bog within y’ throat
it’s so y’don’t croak
trumpets sound a pound
pushing out another log
shat upon the bog
you’re the squawking fog
i’m the cunt in countryside
farting far & wide
speaking with a creak
turns the key of either or
guffaw is a door
you of misted dew
rascal of the astral’s plain
chasing gravy’s train
as waz of the gods
soaks the odds ‘n’ sods of i
pissing from the sky
…
thieving gits
“a flower?”
( peter gabriel )
…
magpies steal moonbeams
& glossy magazines
coins from open pockets
– there goes y’ bus fare
diamonds in heists
with stockings on their noggins
lighthouse keepers
– bald as a featherless coot
who walk without a hat
beneath the midday sun
orange essex girls
with their oompa loompa tans
& the glowing temples
of their croydon facelifts
body builders posing
drenched in baby oil
dragged up by their ankles
to a roost in the sky
plus the little metal dish
of a mister kipling pie
or crowns from the bonces
of royal queens & kings
foil from the smack’eads
– yes, all the shiny things
…
( author nodes )
visit https://resarfpoetry.blog/
if you want to see the full photo
& not just the snippets of it
( sort it out – wordpress tech-twats )
…
resarf poetry 