Author: resarfpoetry

resarfpoetryhttps://resarfpoetry.wordpress.com
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whatever happened to the monkeypox apocalypse?

…

i thought we’d all be dead
but bugger all instead

i’ve checked under the bed
& rummaged in the attic

you’re not on t.v’s snooze
your old house is deserted

your flowerbed is thistles
the lawn is only earth

i’m on the cocoa pops
my third bowl in a row now

& yet my skin is smooth
like an eel on groovin’ bass

i’ve plunged the kitchen sink
& wondered were you real

or never really there
like the missing link?

perhaps a plot hole
or a cheeky cul-de-sac?

my favourite baddy
from season two-m twenty two?

better than the flu
& better lines too

you were the one
but the pantomime plays on

…

an open letter to most popular & thoroughly modern poets

…

dear darling stars

of this modern poetry

      we, the proper wrong’uns

      with rants in our pants

the scum of the erm

the gum on the sole

      of your muse’s shoe

      the muse of snoozing off

of popular you

who redefines purple

      & gets away with cliché

      because the bots love it

the flesh & the code

plus current thing platitudes

      & suckles on the tit

      of normalzzz shit

or some lovely words

about the hills & flowers

      or some boxes ticked

      ( you’re quilling in their survey )

well, you fucking bells

we exist as well

      underneath the bright

      of your brilliant bilge

as your roses a ring

we, the gobshites sing

…

seven thanks

…

thanks for the poem
– i only read the first line
& then fell asleep

thanks for the photo
of your left elbow
smothered in marmite

thanks for bathing with me
in a tub of tinned spaghetti
for fun – not charity

thanks for the salad
september’s semaphore
cheesecake commissar

thanks for the arsenic
i whoopsy daisy spilled
instead of drank

thanks for the scotch egg
– i should see soon
what’s hatching out

thanks for the magic beans
within seven days
they’ll no doubt – sprout

…

my lucky penny

…

oh, my lucky penny

was found on a dung heap

as lightning struck

up the hairy anus cheeks

of brown fingered me

on the cusp of world war three

or so the papers claim

as the mad wind howled

& a big branch fell

from a silver birch tree

& snared us like a hare

with concussion for good measure

so it rained dead crows

& the new moon laughed

at my lucky penny

& lucky old me

…

the casting list for the film of your life story

…

mum – dame helen mirren
dad – chevy chase
you as a boy – flat eric
your best friend then – pingu
the vicar – shane richie
your old lolliop lady – scary spice
your old school bully – a scarecrow nicked from the fields
uncle graham – jackie chan
auntie edith – eddie izzard
your old woodwork teacher – sting ( singer or wrestler )
your driving instructor – kermit the frog
your second-cousin’s neighbour – mister t
the ombudsman’s secretary – nigella lawson
the king of ruritania – ainsley harriot
the duchess of xanadu – kylie minogue
your frisbee-golf coach – the honey monster
your arch-nemesis – adam woodyatt
the archbishop of canterbury – lulu
doctor harold shipman – twat hancock
your electroshock therapist – ozzy osbourne
alan titchmarsh – brief cameo ( in a dream sequence )
your beautiful wife – a blow-up crash-test dummy
the voice of your hamster, clarence – ian mcshane
you grown up – the ghost of roger moore



…


seven more definitions of a poetry

…

~

a gravy train

without the gravy

or the train

~

a lost b-side

that even the drummer’s

forgotten about

~

a scribbled sneeze

a snotty breeze

of bless you

~

the life & times

of a true gobshite

the musical – on ice

~

a sausage role

not double ell

but oh-ell-eeh

~

the reason why

the dragonfly

breathes fire

~

or a turd of words

that we plop online

after logging on

…