You 1st tickled my fantasy in History when I was sweet-lucky 13, as just when I thought that shite-squat could top the Vikings we went all Third Reich like - nice 1 Mr. Green. You were a true Aryan beauty with an air of mystery who had a thing for sweaty Austrian men, yet we're divided by time & capsules of cyanide but oh mein Eva Braun if I could love you then ...
Author: resarfpoetry
hobbyist apocalypse
-
The Campanologists decided -
to end with a clang defy the essence of time in chimey unison rang. The Philatelists pored & ogled through their Stanley Gibbons books whilst licking the front of their favourites & shedding tears - with final goodbye looks. The Ikebanists they seemed to at last lose their powers so now devoid of their Dark-Witchcraft unarranged lovely flowers. Plus the poet-lot simply wrote on as all shit crumbled & evil winds blew oceans drowned & mountain ranges tumbled but their stray words dreamed of dawns anew ...
all geese are nazis when they walk
All geese are Nazis when they walk - no silly talk it's POLITICS not twaddle. Even if it's just another goosey-gander-waddle; webbed feet left 1st then right they're terribly Third Reich ...
have you seen my unicorn?
I don't suppose you've seen my Unicorn ? I've been searching high then low, I tethered him outside my local Happy Shopper - oh I wonder where the tosser could go ? Is he in the library studying Cuneiform ? I've scanned as far as my eyes can see, maybe it's poachers or invisibility as upon his horn is now worn the ring of Gyges ? ...
on a solstice eve
On a Solstice Eve the joint 2nd shortest day of the year when the silvery Sun soon does 1 - disappears especially when partially marred by cloud. A song swanned into my ears a proper old classic no glib festive cheer pre-dating mortal-Jesus with his bastardized ideas so sing it loud & proud now Winter is here ...
most fun is harmless
Whether lost without purpose as a porpoise in a shampoo advert, or moochin' on the horizons of the enlightened & aspiring brigands views. Be it wassailing in the valley with a poem whilst Summer deep-dreams sleep-stirless, or just talking to a bucket - fuck it something to do ...
auguries of tinnitus
I don't remember the Stone Age or the Bronze Age for that matter ; I've never even heard of Rosencratz, that Mastodon or wiped out the Quagga. Loose tiles on a vile Shrovetide bits of brisk gale & shards of dark shatter - no, sorry I don't own that nosedive plus I've never seen toads fly fuck off now & scatter ...
legerdemain(ia)
We Spell your many names - we do on assortments of blank A4 pads, neat pumice & tattered rags, scribbled ink hand's; riddles yet to understand. We try to remember them all in order before they're once more rearranged compelled by forces varied & strange - we Spell your many names ...
the cress years
Yes 1 remembers cress with a distinct fond ness the stubby sweaty thumbs of its uncle-esque caress. The way it laughed & cried like turpentine was far-right at times & made myrtle wine. Plus who can lest forget the rash on its left elbow that resembled Rasputin or the Isle of Wight? But that was many Manis & several Lunas gone now - mere dingy memories dwindled of light ...
destiny is a wanker too…
The other day I briefly managed to give Fate the slip by tying its shoelaces together so after 1/2 a stride it tripped thence fell flat on its Fate-face whereupon I ran away & disguised myself as an invisible needle hidden in a GIANT stack of hay. Briefly ...