the pillow factory exploded in the middle of the night it awoke the sleeping town folk with a boom & a fright it blew up with intensity well-beyond smithereens leaving just the neatest, cleanest crater ever-seen (?) ...
Poems
poetry’s ‘special’
poetry's 'special' & that's why it's essential like a fat man when it really is just glands poetry's 'special' ...
Summer’s on a ‘special’ register
i fucking love you Summer you are the fucking bestest the chubby sweaty thumbs of your uncle-esque caresses old inhibitions disappear when them sheep get sheared any other season & this would be fucking weird ...
nostalgia
i remember nostalgia that fuzzy warm glow from years ago (it's still there somewhere) ...
friends in high places
a mate on a hill friends in high places a proper old mucker no airs & graces the higher the better top that if you can (clouds don't count or the abominable snowman) ...
the man with no nostrils
the man with no nostrils still had a nose 'til one day a big sneeze where does it go? the man with with no nostrils still had a nose 'til one day a big sneeze his head explodes ...
the sixties
if you don't recall the sixties then you probably won't born yet but they say if you remember them you weren't really there so you must've been there & it must've been shit-ape a decade of mind-wipe a decade of YEAH ...
secret potters
secret potters pottery on the sly they come home - hands tired stinkin' of clay in the sordid depths of night yes secret potters pottery unawares the other-half worries why they're not there if only it were as simple as another affair ...
10, 000 grahams
there are always 10,000 grahams on earth since before the dawn of man it's all part of some plan with their magic name they maintain equilibrium is sustained if there were 10,000 & 1 then every goose would turn into a swan ( ... & that's just for starters ... ) ...
plods
let's plod these meadows leagues & yards the sunshine turns the sheep shit hard them hedgerows sing of bits of spring charybdis an opening the buttercups are yellowing the bluebells ring the nettles sting so let's roam this shat for bastard miles plus once upon a nackered stile i found a wallet with loads of cash in it so i kept it ... ( ... author nodes ... sometimes poems ... just end ... the don't end-end, they just end, sorry about that ... )
resarf poetry 