Author: resarfpoetry

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more definitions of a poemz

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more definitions of a poemz ( zmeop a fo snoititnifed erom )

…

songs from beyond
a bonce upon a time

missives in the mist
tusks upon a tongue

ghosts in the post
letters from the otherlings

the notes of a scrote
on the worldwide cobweb

prose & music’s mutant
offspring offerings

rhymes from the original
channel effing tunnel

scribbles & quibbles
in your rotten cabbage diary

yet my sweet achilles
heliotrope

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poets on strike

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poets on strike ( ekirts no steop )

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quell the feathered quills
sleeping now like arthur

toss aside your vellum
put down your thesaurus

the book of synonyms
untie all cravattes

lob the trusty ink well
as if a molotov

in the rubbish bin
outside the town hall

mindful of section five
on the picket line

with all the marxist bards
who’d like to buy a house

before the revolution
as then we’d all own nada

we, the fuming few
the ginger lovechildren

of music & prose
with vestigal toes

we, the unsung glue
blue plaques of the future

who kiss the ruddy cheeks
of miscellany’s anus

chanting – give us freebies
cash & online likes

poets on strike
so write your own shite

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poetry f.a.q’s

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poetry f.a.q’s ( s’q.a.f yrteop )

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is rhyme a hangable crime?

can i stroke her tail

& feed her magic beans?

is she in me genes?

will she shine my shoes

& burn my toast each morning?

if i write five in a row

will my elbows explode?

if i read six in one sitting

will my skin become corduroy?

can i still avoid soy?

are batteries included?

can i plod her marshlands

or will she suck us under

like a polo mint?

are words optional

like ironing a shirt

or looking both ways before crossing?

is she available in turquoise?

can i scale her east face

solo in a thunderstorm

in a pair of underpants

with a leaden pencil?

can i kiss her tentacles

or tickle her phantom udders

with a phoenix feather

or gossamer from the attic

as a skylark barks?

do i have to wear a cravatte

& pretend i care about shat?

does she glow in the dark?

is she banned in denmark?

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cool poem

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cool poem ( meop looc )

…

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this poem is the corpse

of a cucumber farmer

still wearing shades

in a haunted mortuary

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a vortexed breeze

in the doldrums of january

blue moonbeams

or jack frost’s handshake

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this poem is the mermaids

that swim europa’s oceans

or a lost sunbather

in the deepest dark of space

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cubes in the glass

of your homemade lemonade

sipping as she fizzes

& bubbles in the shade

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this poem is the dogs

– sploshing in the river

& polar bears smoking

p.g tips

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this poem is cool

like a second hand cagoule

or a yeti in an ice bath

– top that, y’ tool

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the bunting is munting

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the bunting is munting ( gnitnum si gnitnub eht )

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the silence was golden
a clamour is made
beholding the lost of
the wanker parade

a thunder of fuckers
a bitch of a groan
arranged by the folk who
won’t leave us alone

a floating of gloating
a schism of narc
the crows above circle
but never a lark

the sun is avoiding
the soiling of day
as mister punch swazzles
magonia’s grey

a tentful of tossers
& crap cover bands
the glasses are plastic
& warm in your hands

the lager is fizzless
an apt metaphor
so please putin save us
with nuclear war

a castle of bounces
the drowning ‘n’ bruised
the emptier vessels
are easily amused

the darkness in normalzzz
a forceful delight
the bunting is munting
the carnival’s shite

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seen be to yet

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seen be to yet ( tey ot eb nees )

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when chelsea tractors plough
the muddy fields beyond

& hug-a-mugger chuggers
run away

when all the rich philanthropists
leave us alone

& those effing jesuits
mind their own beeswax

as elton john’s wig
grows an inch – overnight

an alien emerges
out of simon parkes’s arse

climate change melts
the snow in all the snow domes

andrew windsor vindaloos
sweating not a drop

when poltergeists pose
on the cover of vogue

i’ll eat my own toe jam
on hot buttered teacakes

& play leapfrog
with wild boar or rhinos

as you’re crowned the new queen
of sheba – or whiskas

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