~
( the plan ) ( some of a poemz a of )
…
i'm ignoring myself in the hope that i'll notice then wonder how i are now aye - wonder as we do what i'm up to these days? do i still write this gubbins? so fingers crossed that i'm not ignoring myself too ...
~
it’s not the end of the moth ( some truths )
…
it's the end of the month
not the end of the moth
so don't cry - my butterfly
just the month's fucked off
next month we'll still have night,
wardrobes of clothes in lofts
plus the allure of the flame
so we'll still have moths
...
~
i dream in soup ( some poem or such like )
…
potage dotage a soupy head as brothy veins pump bits of bread asparagus bring me my spear the vegetables are mighty here as fungi loom the many spores great battles fought in - between snores i dream in soup leeked potatoes then yet more flies whilst comatosed ...
~
grim again ( some weather-verse )
…
it's grim again
grey clouds & rain
the river's full
as are the drains
it's far from warm
most hide indoors
shit's relentless
this deluge pours
yet on time goes
as cruel winds blow
when will it end?
nobody knows
i hope it stays
fuck part-time rays
the sun's a ****
i love these days
( x )
...
~
( … ~ … ? … ~ … )
…
~
( in person ) ( some stuff of poem )
…
i wrote you a letter on the back of my hand ( the back of my hand ) ( the back of my hand ) i delivered it in person as i'd ran out of stamps ( i'd ran out of stamps ) ( i'd ran out of stamps ) yet i still used your postcode & your current address ( your current address ) ( your current address ) but the rain fell on the way leaving just a smudgy mess ( just a smudgy mess ) ( just a smudgy mess ) ...
~
b-sides & bees beside the sea
( loosely inspire-based on an old music-hall banger tune)
…
oh i do like to listen to a b-side no i don't like to be stung by a bee oh i hate it when bees chase me down the prom prom prom where the brass band plays tiddley-om-pom-pom ( leave me alone ) ...
~
leg dangle song ( poet-tra-la-lee-ry )
…
dangle legs over the edge dangle legs over the ledge as this song sings in your head ( feel the breeze tickle your knees ) ...
~
village weekend ( a little bit of truth but not too much, erm … )
…
on the pavement walk many strangers many more now than before as drunk pubs sing the songs of wankers words are turds & time's a whore ...
~
keep britain tidy ( a little poem that doesn’t want to be good )
…
tip waiters not flys don't be a shitter keep britain tidy pick up your litter or you're a wrong'un asking to be fined if the urge persists write some shite online ( x ) ...
resarf poetry 