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( the voice of the fridge by a poetrys of poem )
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my magnetic poetry kit told me parrot jet armpit turnips bastards moss pentecost wetlands uplands placate dross cherish dowager eczema vole flapjack mithras scroll loophole signets porous plinth screed indeed shuttlecocks ( & i agreed ) ...
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confused december ( 1 min read )
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ambling down this country lane dog beside us - sun above nothing much is on the brain just sundries, their like & such on a day that thinks its spring quite unseasonal ado pheasants strut - rabbits fucking december is well-confused catkins, blossom, new lambs - lo puzzling - is this a trick? shat knows just go with the flow happy easter - all that shit but seasons are fickle sorts now's winter lest we forget the next wind could freeze us all so don't count them chickens yet ...
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ramif … ( a poem-free-free-poem )
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horned or not they'll charge at you they'll headbutt - boss it - buck woollened backs can reach the sky so pray for lady luck ( aye ) be that village villain meddle with the ways of man have truck with all truckers but don't fuck with them rams ...
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( hangover poem ) by 18 lines of ‘ing read
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in the beginning there was sober now bells knell dogs piss on clover damn you shandy your hangover above my ( head ) there shats a plover a quiet drink became bender gay hunchbacks? i don't remember phuket - thought i then it's december i now sweat ( like ) a sex offender ...
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a swimming head ( 8.35 second read )
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a swimming head the flying kind with water wings ( butterfly mind ) ...
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gift for juniper ( 8 lines of shat-fook )
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i'd like to buy you jupiter not the god - the planet it's not on the market now but one day dear you'll have it i'll then rename it juniper a gas giant called thee until then here's a cucumber & a formicary ...
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this versey shit ( a short poetical excursion by percy anode-density)
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this versey shit - those crazy sheets this bollocks wank as squirrels weep or widowed elks - what time's the train? the one to odd or old beltanes where barn own sang - it's half past great on platform 3 unless it's late this scribble fuck - this dither mist my neon puce soul i do give ...
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medieval throwback ( 16 y’oldey lineth readeth )
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i'm a medieval throwback which explains the chain mail which i wear everywhere & the four skins ( of ale ) which i sup every night before my medieval sleep shits get shat in buckets empty it on the street i'm a medieval throwback so sorry for the stench pray what news on the plague & what news on those french? my y'oldey days are happy but i dream of the future not robots or space wank in my dreams - i'm tudor ...
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shop now closed ( 16 line poem sign )
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comeback tomorrow this shop is now closed peruse our aisles when we're not at home sample our delights bargains everywhere some gentle banter then purchase our wares when we are trading i.e not right now hagglers will have their vile tongues ripped out shoplifters will have both their hands removed this shop is now closed we'll be open soon ( x ) ...
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( not murder ) by 4 times 2 read line of
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a pint of mild - a good night's sleep shat no pants at these words i speak no fret not as said saying goes oh i could murder one of those or kill for as it's just a phrase besides the moon's in its wrong phase to stir an urge not that i could more tea curate? touch wood touch wood ...
resarf poetry 