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poetry from those roams along old roman roads ( some v e r s e )
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poetry from those roams along old roman roads yes the seasons they change life it bears heavy loads like a lorry or van or a big fuck-off truck have a wander on them if you're down-bogged or stuck so to speak in the mind many wonders to find as they campaigned they built back in y'old brythonned times ropy verse will emerge trust me - i've channelled loads as one plods through the odd along old roman roads ...
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a short poem about shit ( by mister a shitter of no fixed adobe )
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shit a word a turdy word shit a lie nonsense but why? shit a brick triple time quick shit a mess sheet style so bless ( x ) ...
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a blue sky ( a poetry )
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the sky is blue
it's flippin' lewd
'tis clear my dear
yet ruddy rude
that mucky sky
pleases the eye
but whispers filth
from way up high
( cover your ears )
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ever-regular ( some ropy verse )
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long soaks in the bath they
clear our murky minds
fingers become prunes then
each & every time
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the b in lamb ( some sheet 4 march / spring / stuff in general )
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you just might be the b in lamb
that silent sign that spring has sprang
or sprung its spring - it could be thee
i know this much
that b
aint me
as songbirds sing - old songs are sang
or sung in spring ( they're hatching plans )
the b in lamb you just might be
let's bide our time
let's wait
& see
...
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the chickens in the yard ( a few ropy lines inspired by the photo )
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why living can be hard but the chickens in the yard well they don't give a fuck no - just a peck then a cluck ( yes ) those cowards they don't care as all's a poultry affair aye living can be hard but the chickens in the yard ...
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dilithmofu ( may contain traces of code & ropy verse scrambles )
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cats in mudflaps, dogs up trees alphabets swarm - abc murky waters - thoughts aint free ( wreckage is drifting ) cheese in holes & voles on heat 9152 - chicken feet cobwebs, scrolls & ferry tolls ( stirred serpents hissing ) knobbly gnarls, barking trees odd socks hiding within keys as glib mirth giggles with glee ( hope it is wishing ) soul harvest fest - muddled sleet spying glasses, bogged down peat ankle biters - eat my sheet ( username missing ) ...
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fun times ahead ( a ‘ckin poetryz of )
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i wouldn't know what to play with fire anyway chessboards would burn as would decks of cards plus all contact sports are an absolute no-no ( so ) let's play with glass shards in bastard backyards ...
the later fuddles ( erm )
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yes things aint what they used to do as things aint what they once were is what once were as was then what too before then which that then is this - but why? - ...
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that undercoat ( a sunday story that’s only 1 day too late )
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god planned to paint over the white cliffs of dover magnolia - maybe ( ? ) or else sumit mauver ( ? ) or fluorescent tartan ( ? ) as white is quite spartan that undercoat stayed though let this true tale hearten ( all ) ...
resarf poetry 