( village spillage )

~

( village spillage )

another vaguely poetical rant

inspired by another morning run-in with a true wrong’un

( i’ll spare you the details )




busy bodies

gawpy sorts

gossip mongers

nonsense talk

flaps of piffle

squawks & squawks

they're watching all

like a hawk



with shite eyesight

blinkers on

squinting - blinking

reason's gone

bitter since y'old

days of yon

dream of upper

echelons



nosy bastards

wanky spies

fuelled by gubbins

porky pies

thorny thinking

spiky lies

plague pits piling

in their eyes



busy bodies

fantasies

story telling

fancy-free

curtain twitching

yous not me

mind your own shit

business

please

...



















































where’s mozart?

~

where’s mozart? ( a moderately contemporary word wank )




mozart? don't know

sub concerto

conscious solo

twinkle

don't know


magpie smearing?

mathematics

twinkle hiding

try the

attic


what time's bedtime?

face in basin

death? he faked it

flute stuff

mason


know don't - hut-based

where art? twinkle

new stuff

pipelines

hope so

wishful

...





























none of these trees are trees

~

none of these trees are trees

( a few lines based on a daft idea that’s probably real as well )



all is not what it seems

none of these trees are trees

no, these trees are drama students

or were before the breeze


changed its course out the blue

as breezes often do

they're compelling yet quite wooden

let not these trees fool you

...



























strange but true

~

( strange but true ) ( some stuff )



aye strange but true like roman roads

- oh wait, that's straight

it's raining toads


upon yon road which is quite strange

as ducks on ponds

burst into flames


this road is bent, it's wind-inclined

like hunchback cops

the dodgy kind


i wander on in lieu of clues

or common sense

'tis strange but true

...