It was roughly mid morning (ish) at low nucleotide when the D & RNA they seemed so distant far away. & so the genes at sea began to bad dream, another state perchance mutate, a cheeky fluffy monster with a lovely gobshite grin or part of a collective (!) - "PLEASE COME IN" ...
Author: resarfpoetry
terms in contradiction
Poetry is practically invincible like a tough young Buddhist cat, a ball-resistant moth or a warfarin tolerant rat. As poetry refuses to die like a relative - well fortified & remaining unconquerable, with the keep tower standing proud its lofty attic in the clouds but in many ways it's still very vulnerable ...
2 missed calls
1 missed call from Manchester an 0161 telephone number I wonder who you were ? Plus another missed call from Birmingham an 0121 - I've never 'eard of 'em but confusion soon returns ...
the sun is secretly belgian
The Sun is secretly Belgian but it's never told a soul like Eddie Merx, Stella Artois or the Smurfs for fear of losing its sway & control. As some Sun worshippers would demmand blood if they found out & no doubt switch their allegiences to the moon (!), oh the Sun is secretly Belgian & Jupiter's diabetic but don't tell a single sausage or that sun will come for you ...
in the glaring absence-shat of amusingly shaped vegetables
In the glaring absence-shat of amusingly shaped vegetables, well dressing festivals & beneficial chemicals. You may still stumble across or disturb incredible spectacles plus them normal shaped vegetables are perfectly edible & when done right like apparently taste delectable. Try sensible ...
codswallop & toss bollocks
Pointless like the n in column, a really shit or possibly confused sword or Richard Osman. Whitsun, Christmas - yes the possibilities aren't list-less. Culinary mushrooms, pot holing, welly wanging & cheese rolling. Murder, horrible things, nice people - oh & salt & vinegar crisps plus probably reading this. Sorry ...
poem in a coal shed
No, no one's ever found a poem in a coal shed, in the deepest depths of dullest Summer there wondering why it's not cold yet ? Whilst all the other poems frolic gayly & freely flashing flesh & swearing less - no, no one's ever found a poem in a coal shed but why not is any one's guess ? (keep searching) ...
the way of the pad
Bellends who scrawl bollocks in them notepads & such at the back of the bus should probably be locked up. In their own Special implement & daylight-free wing where they can't write a thing - but due to cutbacks... Hello & as ever, sorry x ...
in constant pursuit
In life I'm in constant pursuit of rainbows, as an analogy & sign of sunshine when the rain goes. Because as mnemonically-sure as Richard Of York Gave Battle In Vain, they all too briefly prism-dazzle then bugger off again. Wankers ...
breads will roll…
Poems are alive yet often vermin & sleep deprived all toss & turnin'. Poems are good friends of most knaves & thought-trains yet naturally wary of focus, plus understandably partial to mystery parcels & how they love munchin' on locust. Poems are the sounds of the bastard hills, poems are a lovely monkey in a dream, most poems shoplift but only from the big stores safe in the knowledge that they'll outlive the Queen ...
