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how’s garden ( a l i m e r i c k – e s q u e e f f o r t )
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it's only right you know that how's garden does grow why now come june all throbs, all blooms as bees bob to & fro ...
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how’s garden ( a l i m e r i c k – e s q u e e f f o r t )
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it's only right you know that how's garden does grow why now come june all throbs, all blooms as bees bob to & fro ...
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( pull the other one … ) ( a t r u e s h o w b i z t a l e )
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i once saw the actor jeremy irons wearing a wrinkly crinkled-creased shirt ( he must think we were all born yesterday ) ...
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as wheat turns gold ( a l i t t l e p o e t r y )
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keep wary here remain discrete these fields have ears & come that breeze strange waves appear an inland sea as wheat turns gold from shades of green ...
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the first ( a s h i t e p o e m )
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somewhere an ill wind blows their nose my secret elbow hums a tune whilst sheep they sleep & cows bulldoze whilst badgers bask & harps harpoon the fields feel fine, the river's low the sky above's in pantaloons as sure as how's garden does grow whilst foxes trot & swallows swoon a door is born - the keys transpose again - once more as sure as prunes plus bats means shat as we all know meanwhile an elm tree gently croons ( ' it's june ' ) ...
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the fly indoors ( a t r u e s t o r y )
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the fly indoors remains indoors from room to room, from floor to floor it bumbles on throughout this house outside the world waits - unexplored the window's smashed so you could go to paris, hull or tokyo i tell said fly - i need not lie follow that breeze which sweetly blows instead there's buzz & buzz again as all is buzz-buzz in my brain plus buzz & buzz & buzz & buzz plus buzz, plus buzz - it's been decades or so things seem, once more i groan then cry - oh fly, please leave this home or i'll make soup then thou may drown oh fuck off fly - leave me alone ...
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( my other poems ) ( a n e x c u s e n o t a n a p o l o g y )
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( my other poems )
are scatter-brained birds
( my other poems )
have returned to the earth
( my other poems )
are flowers on the dead
( my other poems )
shat shit on your head
( watch y'self )
...
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it’s samey, it’s boring ( a r h y m e )
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it's samey, it's boring with nought worth exploring so go to bed & bump your head & fuck it all off 'til the morning ... ( author notes ) just a few lines inspired by the old rhyme 'it's raining, it's pouring'
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fifteen things to do today ( today ! ) ( by franz joseph list )
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one - save the hedge two - save the hog three - save the hedgehog four - walk that dog five - blow your nose six - who needs them? seven - ( extempore ) eight - straighten bends nine - do not kill ten - mind the gaps eleven - eat well twelve - take a nap thirteen - then wake fourteen - scratch head fifteen - rise & shite then back to bed ...
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chimneys & chins ( a p o e t r y )
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chimneys & chins bristles & billows smoke blurs the words sweep as that willow mandible soot terraced rows spinning drunk in their sleep chimneys chin-chinning ...
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stern gales in storm drains ( a ? ( ? ) )
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there's stern gales in storm drains & judges in wigs there's branches called russell so then something twigs fire engines when it rains with shite siren song cat burglars stuck up trees so let's wander on - look, judas on burnt toast he's winking - the scamp plus bees in yon bonnet as barns start to dance there's presence in present & past in its tense there's jigsaws & piss-takes yes far too much sense ...