~
why do psychics adverise … ? ( a brief query )
…
oh why do psychics advertise?
it should all be done with their minds
then we'd just know - thoughts harmonise
a siren song from their third eyes
...
contemporary poetry
weasels keep on popping
~
weasels keep on popping
…
yes weasels keep on popping exploding out-the-blue yet no one really knows why for some reason they do we've tried blaming the weather each other & ourselves acts of god or 'terrorists' but that shit never helps the science folk are puzzled they'd answer if they could the governments says keep calm but stay away from woods one blast could rip an ear-off or kill you if you're old thems old trad rhymes - they know why pop goes the weasel ( that's us told ) ...
can’t win ’em all …
money thoughts
~
money thoughts ( a brief poetical discharge )
…
if i think of money
then i think of greed
divisions - divide & rule
struggles - suppressed mouths to feed
spineless wanker bankers
bullshit, death & woe
offer us a fiver though
chances are i won't say no
...
still egg
~
still egg ( a brief ponder-thing )
…
this poem is still egg
until out pecks a head
i shall incubate it so
gently sit on this egg
upon a thorny branch
in my metaphored nest
in the bewildered forest
guests - please excuse the mess
...
you’re history
~
you’re history ( a brief poetical non-paradigm ( essay fragment ) )
…
your viking moods your saxon cross your maypoled frame & obby oss your gramophone y'old pants in ants glass-mad like charles the sixth of france your roman nose with ears to match the nose you pict your adolf tache your warts & all they tortured me sweet dungeoned dear you're history ...
no one in particular
~
no one in particular ( 9 lines o’ rhyme )
…
it's easy as we are no one we're no one in particular no fiddler or cricketer or sacred cow of literature the streets are free to wander down no fans asking for signatures as fame is not our prisoner we're no one in particular ...
some flowers …
~
some flowers … ( a contemporary piece )
…
bee stings in clover rose of queues lonely licking their tulips potpourri foamy heather forecasting sweet pea soup fucks lunch marigold dish shit petal thanks a bunch ...
encore …
~
encore … ( a contemporary sonnet )
…
as the actress said to the bishop thanks for the clap ...
where is arthur?
~
where is arthur? ( 32 lines of wonder )
…
where is arthur?
where's he gone?
there asleep 'neath
avalon?
not that arthur
climb a tree
scan as far as
eyes can see
visit ruins
consult ghost
attach missing
notes to posts
ask a wise owl
they might know
cleverer though
are those crows
is he hiding
in our heads?
check cupboards
& under beds
question what is
really real
slippery these
eels we feel
dive in duck ponds
dig the earth
prepare yourself
fear the worst
then the phone rings
saves the day
it's arthur he's
on his way
...
resarf poetry 