You don't have to give your hair a comb or iron your clothes to mind your own or look both ways when crossing the road 'cause life's too short - they're optional those ...
Art
mind the gaps
Apparently it's gaps that are key as gaps make the whole thing breathe but please remain wary of the spaces that you leave or these gaps they might take over words are our sanctuary ...
often but mainly then
Some statues frown the proper cheeky ones wink the Turin Shroud novelty tea towel blinked as shadow figures pass between which should scare or surprise almost unseen from the corners of my eyes ...
how they make freckles
You put your left hand in your left hand out wait 'til next April then shake the mucus out whilst scattering Natterjack Toad bones libations of Irn Bru plus offerings of Toblerone a pocketful of rye then a Mind's Eye of imply & that might do it it's worth a try ...
behind closed doors
What lies in store behind closed doors they're magical places surprises galore ? Who knows from here our thoughts are extraneous; a battered old garden or a Narnia for atheists ? ...
puddle power
Yes Puddles are alive in a variety of shapey-sizes from 1 droplet of Puddle-Stuff to 2 thirds of the Earth. The bits that stagger Puddles are classed as 'Streams' 'Big Streams' or 'Land' strange heathen places despised by Ye Gods so everyday these Puddles EXPAND ...
definitely a brewing
The bin by the bus stop wasn't bursting to the brim & the bakers had a symbolic queue of 2, the birds they sang of Spring then other chirpy feathery things as last night's rainfall in the river obeyed the valley - flowed on through. A Libran nearly sneezed as the chimneys smoked freely unblocked by stuck burglars or dark Satanic soot, this is conspiracy the calm before the treachery the seeds of deceit shit, something's afoot ...
grow your own toenails
Grow your own toenails breathe your own air scratch your own itchy arse moan at that there. Perform your own pantomime eat your own toast whilst life-permitting then be your own ghost ...
feed the child
Mum can we have chips for tea with ambrosia fish fingers - mushy peas then lemon meringue pies plus manna from the skies & get a fuckin' move on I'm hungry please? ...
the gist of things
Twas a stormless night when the incident with the euphonium low cloud yet quitish bright triggered pandemonium. The chickens they ran amok as the church bells sang of the end of the of days the vicar was touched by a form of shock like headless poultry - mad cluckers all crazed. & then it almost rained frogs as the cries of terror-shit topped deafening plus miaows from confused dogs almost but definitely threatening. & so without further ado-ACHOO in the absence of thunder claps or any last requests bless you - yes I have the sniffles too hereby thence sentence you to death ...
resarf poetry 