…
though the fat bastard
fasted half the hungry week
while the unsung heroine
modestly sang of her greatness
oh, yet the gobby mime artiste
never fhut the suck up
now the breeze from the south
is colder than a northerly
but the oxymoron seemed
quite bright in conversation
…
…
maverick limerick writer
adds an extra sixth line
penner of great epics
only wrote a paragraph
nonsense verse disperser bought
a gravy train ticket
haiku enthusiast
could explode, say experts
the clout what writes those couplets
learnt to count to three
love sonnet composer
still quilling on the loose
…
…
martian men invade earth
come the week ahead?
so tomorrow’s crumpets?
yesterday’s brown bread?
saladin & mothman
in your garden shed?
guinivere & danu
underneath my bed?
as the sun is singing
songs around the moon
bats above us gliding
of an afternoon
four & twenty mute swans
talking to the dead?
& a cat with eyebrows?
possibly, she said
…
…
perhaps with a scratch
on a scrambled egghead
in a phantom passage
bricked like the it
when we see our own ghost
yet the tawny owl hoots
while the what’s unaware
like a climate changeling
with bright blue hair
in green jackboots
so the song is a swan
& this desk is his nest
…
…
scribbled in the midlands
by a scroat in odd socks
lit by tealight
up before the farmers
read by smoky fishwives
praetorian gardeners
rabid traffic wardens
& seasick oceanographers
at least it’s not the sobbings
of your godmother’s sonnets
or the catatonic purrs
of your long lost uncle’s prose
may contain monkey
nuts & the other
best before last century
peaked in antiquity
i blame the belgians
the gypos & the methodists
sod this for a stare-off
with a freshly painted wall
( huff )
…
…
no, washing up liquid
or floor cleaner
nor a certain meringue pie
is not the yellow reason why
this kitchen smells of lemons
…
…
feel free to buy me a coffee at
buymeacoffee.com/resarf poetry
i know it’s a bit cheeky
but everyone else is on it already
or buy one of my books on amazon
i have my own page under the name duncan f-m
( thank you )
…
…
the chemical burns
beneath my panda
eyes – the bright blue
sky upon your
haddock head
& we are battered
chipped & mushy
peas be with you
we are stories
like the distant – stars
a scar in
every twinkle
twinkle little death
& catching – fluttered breath
these scatter cushions
us, the cloudy
early hatchlings
groaning bones but
tomorrow isn’t cancelled
like a zed lister’s
online wrongthink
mister bump is
our spirit guide – life
is a series of un –
fortunate accidents
…
…
twenty nine letters
in the anglo-saxon alphabet
twelve buttercups in each
square foot of the garden lawn
thirty four chapters
to read in treasure island
thirty six black keys on
a standard grand piano
five white stars
on the flag of christmas island
seven magpies
in an untold secret
a billion rovers
in the doggo phonebook
ten green bottles
in no one’s favourite song
& fifteen lines of sigh
in the baker’s latest sonnet
…
( author notes )
i hate all sonnets
i find them annoying
& pointless
f.t.r, so y’know
…
…
smile if the rhyme flies
laughing there, the gasping air
five silver magpies
…
resarf poetry 