in the absence of my poltergeist who used to keep me up with fright quite terrified since gone all shy i gave it a go haunt d.i.y so banged a wall then smashed a plate then had a nap a good 'un - great it's not the same i miss you now sweet poltergeist dear ghostly thou ... ( author nodes; this poem is also dedicated to yvette fielding ... )
yes sneezing is believing aye sneezing's real it's true i thought it was all a hoax-joke like blinking until one day - achoo ( ! ) ...
in the lab i cross-bred a potato with a carrot is this a cotato or another form of parrot ? why it's 50 / 50 this much is clear to me but does world domination beckon ? ha ha, potentially ( ? ) ...
come july it's spiky as the mind's slightly fizzled with a purposeful purple amid summer's coloured riddles an 'erb & a flower tell a friend - blow a whistle they're nutty on the inside 'tis the time of thistle ...
nowhere in particular is a favourite spot of mine easily on a par with someplace or other for whiling away one's time there's ideal for things & stuff things of the like & such yes nowhere in particular in the beautiful land of nothing much ...
with a metal detector in hand i gradually scan this land for bits of roman pewter or robot from the future as time's one big illusion confusion meets delusion ( so far; just an old 5p phased out in the early 90s ) ...
the world of hats it's massive vast from top to hard toque blanche flat cap sombrero stetson tam o'shanter life is a question hats are the answer the world of hats is ruddy huge from mitre to high there's many to choose so maybe pirate or fez instead the options are endless but only one head ( ? ) ...
as the hedgehog has its quills & the serpent its forked tongue i am hum man being cognito ergo hum with no miming or instruments no beating of drums i am hum man being there's no place like hum as the garden has its sweet peas the greengrocer has its plums i am hum man being the best is yet to hum so come piss shit winter gale aye come wanker summer sun i am hum man being i am a man that hums ...
you should get into politics that's what folk say which never means you should do it just means go away even i know that one no need to huff or scoff you should get into politics i.e fuck off ...
well this shit kicked in on the night after epiphany quite possibly a delayed reaction great uncle wet wipes dozed as the moon mooned surreptitiously yet magnet-esquely hence the attraction it was musical in places staggered bits of polyphony confusing them snow fields with song plus all the goats went flemish throughout this wonky mystery but come the first of april well whatever it was had gone ( the end ) ...
resarf poetry 