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good morning? by 48 syllables in 16 lines of 3 syllabes per-line read
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good morning? dunno yet it's early i'm well-slept the sunshine is present the air here is clement it should be it could turn with dark clouds then things burn then mayhem & end times a maybe 'should be fine ...
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i’ve got loadsa poemz by 34.7 second read ( tops mate, tops )
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i've got loadsa poemz but they're just titles awaiting verses ( just ) waiting for words to spring forth like springed things out from the ether maybe the other a sudden burst i can't be arsed now & i did the first bit come on ye muses don't be so shy pull your fingers out loves or it aint teamwork or does the word team now have an i ( ? ) ...
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( the price of bread ) by 5 odd lines i wrote
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i remember when the bread was so very cheap that the bakers used to pay us to take it from their hands ( in another loaftime ) ...
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night time not day ( this poem is dedicated to a monument )
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night time not day bats flap cats stray deep sleeps ash trays t.v duvets chapters whisky willows wispy jim jams frisky home time miss me? night time moon-based faster slow-paced you choose two-faced janus snails race slippers cocoa clubbers go go seal pups? oh no then dawn ( cock crows ) ...
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on a friday morn with mist by phuh cough
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on a friday morn with mist we tried to write a limerick we thought we should it might be good alas the usual shit 'n' piss came out when my trusty pen & i didst scribe some stuff & then the doorbell rang a dodo sang so we gave up bollocks ( the end ) ... p.s sorry
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thinking about sinking things by click to read
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i'm thinking about sinking things like parliament lead water wings atlantis & the titanic old venice submerged kitchens i'm thinking about sinking things whilst wearing a rubber ring on a hill here pondering glug glug glug - gone sinking things ...
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( dunno ) by 11 second read
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hey diddle diddle a wriggle in the squiggle a dribble in the drizzle a pickle in the middle hey diddle diddle a quibble in the ripple a sizzle in the fizzle a piggy in the riddle ( ? ) ...
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( upon reading the label … ) by xxxii line read
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will contain traces of some stag & stoat crisp winter mornings & arse & scroat twentieth century clucked chickenpox long-lost backdoor keys & misplaced flocks confused afternoons & hot vindaloo latex gloves & nuts achoo - bless you bubblewrapped sundays & great shapes of ape inner wind word-pools & deepest space will contain traces of baked bakewell tart ropy poetry backsplashed piss art tea every morning & a jam sandwich fucking bollocks shit some bad language recycled easters & mowed astroturf green of an evening shrines to the earth strawberries - hay bales jigsaws & man trust me - i am me or think i am ( ? ) ...
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where to find monsters by 24 lines of stuff
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in the big forest with the big trees in the tea towel drawer on the high seas in the vast desert in storms of sand in the mortuary lend us a hand on the tall mountain at one with snow on those stormy nights when the wind blows on other planets under the ground in ye old folk tales in unknown sounds on misty mondays amongst the fog or the bark-barking of spooked watchdogs under the futon in the dark shed on moody moorland in our scared heads ...
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gazing out from smudgy windows by 16 lines of that there poetry sheet
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gazing out from smudgy windows it's a bit like playing bingo with your cousin underwater watching people sourcing info dampened vision smeary wind blows everyone's a widowed willow can they see me? am i blurry? gazing out from smudgy windows ...
resarf poetry 