Art

the art of almost ( sort of )

 

the breeze picked up

& sucked

the final piece of the jigsaw

from the grip of my finger things

then out

the open window


'that's cromwell's last wart'

i huffed

so i chased said piece of jigsaw

down the lane then o'er them dales

for centuries

to no avail


( the end )

...












( author nodes )

yes, breezes can suck too

in fact

every time a breeze blows somewhere

it sucks somewhere else

that's equilibrium & day 1 in wind school


cheers

...

 

bring back medieval keys ( ! )

in medieval times

well the keys were so much bigger

 plus the locks were far larger than today

yet the people were smaller

yes we've grown taller

& the keys & locks have gone the other way


this poem you may say

is devoid of a point

like a fly once plucked of its wings

but at this going rate

keys will soon be subatomic

then we'll never ever find the fucking things

...

visions of things




i was amble-plodding down a y'oldey wonky lane

 to my left a field of donkeys

in the head an empty brain


to my right a field of peas when the visions burst forth

yes pods a plenty

as a jenny eeyored


i saw next ash wednesday it rained around 3ish

a ginormous artichoke

an otter feeling peevish


a baboon in a wedding dress - 2 pixies playing badminton

& then shite faded out to nowt

- should i inform the vatican

( ? )

...

 

the girl with carrots for fingers



the girl with carrots for fingers

had actual carrots for fingers

i met her one crunchy

candlemas eve

hiding in a wood

amidst the frosty old trees


the girl with carrots for fingers

oh how her carrot touch lingers

she escaped from a farm-lab

then lived on the run

a super-hush experiment

& potentially; weapon


yes the girl with carrots for fingers

don't worry - her hair wasn't ginger

we spoke of a future

her voice was a song

but come the yawn of morning-thing

that carrot girl had gone

...