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the annual fair by deirdre yearly ( 16 lines of blind man’s gold x )
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the annual fair has come to town there's spins 'n' spills some thrills abound it's fun for all if you like rides sugar & salt perhaps a fight or teenage snog one for the youths so come on down it may amuse our music's shit there's dodgems here the fair doth come but once a year ...
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sumit ( afoot ) by ye oldey one scoreth lineth readeth ( & aye cry all of us )
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autumn has locked itself in a cupboard then eaten the only existing key mum's gone to iceland & morning's in purgatory summer's in prison so it's just me telly is well shat bingo & biscuits ( i ) wish it could be whitsun every day other than easters or nuclear tuesdays some snails are hairy suspension bridges sway ...
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a fading song by 9 whole actual lines read
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this here is a fading song but it's still a song as it is still audible but not for very long banshee wailing waning swan flaming babylon this here is a fading song it's going going gone ...
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bluetongue disease by head, shoulders, knees & toes
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intergalac- tic fuckin' quiche that's far out flan clean language please i am part-sheep bluetongue disease around these parts is spreading free i'm less than next oh flippin' 'eck i am but lost the merest speck so shitta-brick then hit the deck oh bubblewrap & chicken necks ...
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the first frost since the last frost by a dodgy limerick ( i.e 5 line read )
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the first frost since the last frost since then less cold as glasnost but now things dip it's winter's bit so dare not take thee hats off ...
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chuckling to my elf by percival paradox
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i've been chuckling
to my elf
elf is the roundabouts
progression from self
or transgression
from self to elf
as else
( ? )
regardless,
they're quietly amused
...
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tiddlywinks with nymphs by nfe8747b9
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i like playing tiddlywinks with nymphs & i like winning ...
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soggy transmission by yesvember
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early november is bonfires of dead leaves on dark eves & mischief & night walks as guy fawkes is torched by tradition it's fungi it's scrumpyed a boggy rendition a soggy transmission ...
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poisoned pens by the claudine spoon
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poisoned pens make venomous letters forked-tongued fanged-jobs nasty beggars they won't kill that's sticks & stones there is no known antidote ...
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what’s the damage ? by thyestes water-clock
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when the mist clears we must see what is left when its ghost whafts retreat to some damp land undead when the birds re-emerge pen & pad tick yes aye while there's this vision we must fogged spot check ...
resarf poetry 