.,.
nora’s naughty nap
nestor’s nincompoop nephew
nigel’s nylon nob
…
Author: resarfpoetry
the long & winding rhododendron
…
still skylarking
as the cat is barking
squirms in y’ journals
mustard cress & colonels
guess the fuckin’ rest then
shaving in the dark
swimming in the depths with
a kraken & a shark
crocus pocus
focus in the locus
spring is on a mattress
with a famous actress
talking to a bishop
wish upon a well
annals, ants ‘n’ flannels
as the badgers yell
sweet pea shooting
as y’ nan is looting
morrisons & budgens
that’ll make the cudgeons
put y’ fuckin’ boot down
cloud a summer day
walk with thee beside me
& squawk beneath the grey
…
prime twats strike again
…
riots when they form
them of masks & clot-shot jabs
those that hoarded bog roll
like a frightened squirrel
them that soiled their pants
& never saw their nan
fighting over cans
of fizzy snake oil
see the pillocks pile on
humping yet clothed
like a bored bullock
on a muggy august morn’
lost of all purpose
like a beached porpoise
kicking off in aldi
whislt i hum vivaldi
look at those battle-bot
normalzzz go
it’s the freakiest
show ( oh-oh )
& cumming fucking soon
to your local shop
what a load of bollocks – it’s
– twats & rip-off pop
…
( author notes )
my poetry prediction for 2023
is that simon armitage
will become alan titchmarsh
& alan titchmarsh will become
simon armitage
–
those two have been merging for years
ever since simon got the laureate gig
but they will become one
& the same
by this time next year
…
( stop making up your own jokes )
…
mike hunt is hairy
( back, arse & palms )
mike hunt is fishy
( fly & sometimes magnet )
mike hunt is tight
( there’s cobwebs in his wallet )
mike hunt is massive
( he’s seven foot two )
mike hunt is tiny
( compared to a blue whale )
mike hunt is yeasty
( he’s a baker by trade )
mike hunt is smelly
( normally lynx africa )
mike hunt is shaven
( but only on his face )
mike hunt is weepy
( but still dices onions )
mike hunt is wet
( from walking in the rain )
mike hunt is lovely
( he’s never seen on a tuesday )
mike hunt prefers
to be known as a michael
…
testing times
~
ten past quizzical
interrogation a.m
dunce hat day
yawning all morning
fight all fortnight
the disappearing years
head scratch afternoon
quarter to mercurial
bugger me p.m
tumbleweed fifteen
humpty dumpty evenings
doldrum & bass
tongue tied thirty
cul-de-sac month
a calendar of colanders
whirlpool fest
what the fuck o’ clock
…
( author notes )
i wrote this the other day
after a giant scotch egg on legs
( appearance & sentience )
tried to run me over
in his battered golf
the cunt had pulled in
to the junction i was crossing
& if i hadn’t had stepped back
– i’d be in hospital or dead
& what was its excuse?
… ” but i only live ’round the corner “
… well there we go then …
stay safe from zombies behind the wheel
x
thoughts on the unnamed narrator
~
who is the unnamed narrator
of nearly all stories & tales
that ever have been told
– they must be very old
or live outside of time
in some pocket universe
in a terraced house
with three cats & a goldfish
maybe their name is constantine
mike perhaps or julie
they probably smoke a pipe
& wash behind both ears
i bet they drive an audi
& dabble in taxidermy
they may well play the bagpipes
& grow their own begonias
there’s no way that they’re ginger
for fuck’s sake – that’s impossible
or keep their eggs in the fridge
next to their cucumbers
i do hear they bake flapjack
& skim stones on a sunday
upon the lakes & ponds
around the back of everywhere
( ? )
…
fred west’s shopping list
…
roses for rose
( the chocolates & the flowers )
john west ( no relation ) tuna chunks
leather whip
a massive dildo
a new gimp suit
spirit level
another lodger
a smothering pillow
a saw ( for their knuckles )
patio slabs
shovel
…
r i s i n g
squirrels up a tree
breakers on a storming morn
waves upon the sea
steaming kettle fog
gasses farted from a marsh
orblets from a bog
prices in the shops
higher than a satellite
as a sixpence drops
fledglings from a nest
up today & so away
dough after a rest
bread is on the brain
ghosts in smoking fires fly
puddles after rain
gristle up a nun
throbbing meat in either end
then of course, the sun
…
what the fog?
…
now is sodden smoke
from the bowels of rotten oak
( ~ )
phantom dogs afoot
sing of sinking sand & soot
( ~ )
then within the head
in the absence of a stead
( ~ )
darkness is a mate
as the cattle masticate
( ~ )
far beyond this where
in the barns of else’s there
( ~ )
plod beyond the town
as a nothing pisses down
( ~ )
cousin saturn spins
uncle odin’s stroking chins
( ~ )
shiver in the rhyme
of a headless horseman time
( ~ )
silent like the rain
or the e in michael caine
( ~ )
floating in the still
in the mists of winter’s chill
( ~ )
breezeless is the lieu
of this archimedes screw
( ~ )
’til the crocus croak
& king arthur is awoke
…
alternative names for candles
birthday cake beacons
christingle lanterns
waxen dinner lights
lit wick christenings
brightening the night
flaming moth magnets
drippy torches or
plasma dance floors
…
resarf poetry 