~
( the month of jan by the right-reverend jan uary )
…
the month of jan
when plans began
snow white rabbits
pinch punch - ow man
perhaps begun?
the head's still spun
the bare bones of
time's skeleton
begin afresh
the same old mess
biscuits - risk it
each step's a guess
still miss & hit
trapdoors 'n' tricks
but early days
( don't shit them bricks )
...
~
a glimpse of heaven ( a limerick )
…
there was a man from devon who caught a glimpse of heaven up on dartmoor he briefly saw six angels - maybe seven ( ? ) ... ( author notes ) well, it was only a glimpse after all ...
~
there was young lady from surrey ( a limerickz )
…
there was a young lady from surrey who sped through her days in a flurry her decisions were rash her appearance - slapdash far too hurried to think about worries ...
~
new year confusion ( 24 lines of that there poemz-shat )
…
the year is dead
long live the year
the month of jan's
two-faced head rears
there's rain outside
on new year's day
december's piss
washes away
down dated drains
everything's old
everything's new
old tales untold
where be my head?
i am confused
oh mulberries
time's spiked my juice
it's early days
but is it though
- oh look, a ghost
strange shades they glow
unseen before
by mortal eyes
i give up on
the whats & whys
( ? )
...
~
dick’ead has gone ( 12 lines of reality )
…
dick'ead has gone - peace is restored back to prison a month or four each irked road has a dick'ead there at least one dick they're everywhere in some ideal world on some street they'd be neighbours life would be sweet a border drawn like lines in sand there they'd kick-off in dick'ead land ...
~
the scraps of the year ( 8 lines of hope-stuff )
…
the scraps of the year what's left in the head aye - the end bit draws near so handstand for the dregs something might appear versey, yet unsaid or a novel perhaps or a feather instead ( ? ) ...
~
( suddenly all’s fine ) ( after this poem it’s out of the system )
…
why are we here? writing these poems? we could be playing golf hitting those balls yeah - watch out & fore into those bunkered holes with our golf clubs our special golf chums we're all so golfly dressed retired planners retired c.i.d a dodgy sweatered mess ...
~
cautionary ambles ( some lines of the year’s scrapz )
…
never trust a thin chef
never trust a clean rat
never trust those clear skies
never trust those fat cats
never trust a drunk monk
never trust a seesaw
never trust those goblins
never trust those detours
never trust all sonnets
never trust an m.p
never trust a flatfish
never trust the gentry
never trust a kelpie
gift horse fare - gobshite rhymes
never trust this word stuff
keep wary at all times
...
~
all the famous people will soon … ( a brief observation poeticalz )
…
dont blame benylin or
the tabloid press
all the famous people
shall soon be dead
don't blame calpol,old age,
badgers or stress
god's having a cull
off
with all their heads
...
~
( repetition is the key )
…
repetition is the key repetition is the key repetition is the key ( et cetera ) ...
resarf poetry 