when phyllis discovered liquorice tea she thought 'take that pontefract you're the one for me i quite like liquorice - i quite like a brew but why be an either-beaver ( ? ) this here's the power of two ~ sorted' ...
photography
a chimp in your armour
there's a chimp in your armour in your armour there's an ape not a chink in your armour but an chimp clad in plate & chimp's causing y'oldey khaos as chimp slowly larks along there's a chimp in your armour what the fuck is going on ( ? ) ...
please don’t call an ambulance
please don't call an ambulance if you fall dead down the stairs or decapitate yourself whilst chopping carrots clean off - nothing there please don't call an ambulance if you fatally drown in the shower most accidents do happen at home but certain things are beyond their powers ... ( pauper scroats; follow-up to 'call the police' how exiting ... )
call the police
if you've witnessed a crime you shall call the police it might be sheep-bothering or a fracas in the streets they're all dodgy wankers far lower than thieves but they do good too occasionally so call the police ...
8 line poem
yes clock museums have many many faces & vicarages, well they're very angry places as sure all haiku are smug little squits aye facts make the world go 'round - god bless this fucking shit ( x ) ...
the shoe in sue’s shoe ( a shoe story )
sue had a stone in her shoe sue removed shoe to de-stone as we do yet when she did to her surprise with bemusement in her eyes 'fuckadoodleooh ( ! ) it's no stone - it's a shoe' yes sue had a shoe in her shoe a tiny replica of the shoe of sue 'who? what? how? shite why? not a shoe clue have i' but weird shit's real too & this story's true ...
wyn’s turquoise-phase
wyn's just lived through a turquoise-phase which lasted approximately 34 days he did turquoise things whilst wearing turquoise clothes but his future's purple or more precisely; mauve ( the end ) ...
wet paint signs
yes wet paint signs are a favourite sign of mine but sometimes they lie sometimes it's dried so always dab a fingertip on the self-proclaimed wet paint it's the only way to know for sure if it's wet or if it aint ...
a little poem about that there nothing
some clever tosser clogs well they insist that that there nothing don't exist a bit like the tea towel drawer monster which apparently is dust & trapped air but a quick thought i think they should spare for those folk who play musical chairs with never any music or vaguely tonal humming & never any fucking chairs there wankers ...
( very early june )
everyday's a mystery that's why it all begins with a yawn as floaty fragments of recent dreams tickle the conscious thing into the morn everyday's a mystery as sure as that pan can play pipes or the w.i dance on the edge of a knife bewilderment is the fountain of life ...
resarf poetry 