~
in absentia ( another vaguely poetical stab in the daft )
…
the feral vet, his intense sweats
that manic get
the haunted cow
the magic nurse, her tragic verse
& piggish purse
the singing sow
the dog in clogs - that trot - clip clop
& catty strops
the talking plough
those cheeky apes, our many scrapes
since former japes
where are they now
?
( fuck knows )
...
~
squidgy in the middle ( a poem for today )
…
squidgy sings the bleary lark
stretchy is this day
timid as dormice is dark
swarms of horsefly neigh
poppy crows the how do cock
mallow caws that crow
as the old & gold sun throbs
so them hay fields glow
yonder swoop the ninja swift
as that bracken booms
as the bloody cuckoo spits
bees hum bumbled tunes
speckled is the tickled brain
thistled now are thorns
blonde may riddled summer reign
from this solstice morn
...
~
wrong’uns ( a poem ( ? ) )
…
i feel the building breeze as see i wheat fields sway so i think of rome aflame & a young theresa may vandalising crops ...
~
( some call it gibberish ) ( author notes – i ****in’ wish … )
…
mandates, marmosets dum-dee-dum-dee-dee-dum popcorn, leprosy my prize plums penguins, wishing wells wobble-wibble-wooh-hop barnets, barnacles bop-bop-bop flipflops, cauliflowers wabber-dabber-doo-dah cobwebs, fancy pants tra-la-la toenails, monoliths jibber-jabber-doo-doo dodos, bubblewrap yeah-yeah ooh ...
~
foxes don’t wear gloves ( an old poem of mine )
…
foxes don't wear gloves & i've never seen a bee don a bonnet - in or on it foxes don't wear gloves no, none of the above ...
~
say it with chips ( some nonsense )
…
out the blue - old chocolate blocks worn to this then falling off make a wish, a micro-wish shoulder fish upon your dish down they come in bits of shot battering the local shops cross your crinkled finger-tips spuds above & say it with chips ...
~
part-digested noons ( a shiteku )
…
part-digested noons regurgitated wednesdays unsettling times ...
~
drub-a-rub-dub ( some shocking news )
…
drub-a-rub-dub three men are entangled the butcher, the baker & the man who makes candle stick's - quick, call the press it's a bath-based scandal spotted in a tub - sharing soap bloody shambles ...
~
too hot for xylophones ( eight lines of bellend )
…
oh trombones be thy skies above as oboes - doze so in yon fields so it's too hot for xylophones but not too hot for glockenspiels ...
resarf poetry 