…
no, washing up liquid
or floor cleaner
nor a certain meringue pie
is not the yellow reason why
this kitchen smells of lemons
…
Poems
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…
feel free to buy me a coffee at
buymeacoffee.com/resarf poetry
i know it’s a bit cheeky
but everyone else is on it already
or buy one of my books on amazon
i have my own page under the name duncan f-m
( thank you )
…
these little digs
…
then let’s begin
she can snap like
a terrapin
a donkey’s tail
the shirt i wore
is hairy now
a trowel – perhaps
your mouth & me
these little digs
a nettle here
a thistle there
– who’s weeding who?
it’s red ahead
with green unseen
the blue buffoon
is bellend i
both up & down
so winding then
he later wrote
a post-it note
explaining none
…
snapping time
…
the light inside
beyond stained glass
windows glows &
winter’s wind blows
her bright teeth bite
the seventh was
a pair, those two
so number five
& man alive
it can be this
don’t focus on
the moon within
or come what make
straw manifest
your own nowhere
so don’t go there
o’clock
…
corduroy, monsieur
…
un pantalon
velours côtelé
as they’re known in france
…
life is a series of unfortunate accidents
…
the chemical burns
beneath my panda
eyes – the bright blue
sky upon your
haddock head
& we are battered
chipped & mushy
peas be with you
we are stories
like the distant – stars
a scar in
every twinkle
twinkle little death
& catching – fluttered breath
these scatter cushions
us, the cloudy
early hatchlings
groaning bones but
tomorrow isn’t cancelled
like a zed lister’s
online wrongthink
mister bump is
our spirit guide – life
is a series of un –
fortunate accidents
…
the shoe world order
…
lacing up my tongue
the world is run by cobblers
& they’ve got no sole
…
old folk numbers
…
the town crier’s dry mouth
the ferryman’s friend’s angina
the matron’s b.o
the cattle drover’s nosejob
the drayman’s blocked passage
the abbot’s v.d
& the milking maid’s athletes foot
( altogether now )
…
you never ate the world
…
you never ate the world
you barely ate a clod
sod all really, deary
but oh – you bloody moan
woe is me with bells on
cripes – end this tripe & write
a song beyond cliché
we all know feathers are light
& repetition can help
& repetition can help
but can be a distraction
but can be a distraction
so come on ducky, don’t suck
yesterday’s sour milkshake
your carton’s empty now
soon all your friends will purr
please see beyond your arse cheeks
et cetera beckons
…
number ‘neath the arches
…
twenty nine letters
in the anglo-saxon alphabet
twelve buttercups in each
square foot of the garden lawn
thirty four chapters
to read in treasure island
thirty six black keys on
a standard grand piano
five white stars
on the flag of christmas island
seven magpies
in an untold secret
a billion rovers
in the doggo phonebook
ten green bottles
in no one’s favourite song
& fifteen lines of sigh
in the baker’s latest sonnet
…
( author notes )
i hate all sonnets
i find them annoying
& pointless
f.t.r, so y’know
…
resarf poetry 