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two peas in a pod ( s o m e ? )
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two peas in a pod then on things get odd different be these peas' personalities & they're tastes & taste vary vastly - great though they're both pea green all's not what all seems ...
Poetry
downhill’s the easy part
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downhill’s the easy part ( a l i t t l e p o e m )
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then downhill's the easy part
how the other half ride
push it like a dung beetle
then like buzzards - we glide
clearer like a rainbow's cue
or a lake come daybreak
watch it though on those slopes
keep a hand on those breaks
...
dear athlete’s foot,
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dear athlete’s foot, ( a p o e m )
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so shudder earth or maybe not the sun is cold - the poles are hot your earlobes glowed like magic pearls on samhain eve spirals unfurl erm truths hide in wrong barks up trees yes, barns can't dance - dark history it peppers all as plague un-fussed or duckpond ducks but still this rust as blackholes suck then elsewhere spew some fuckin' dick'ead jumps the queue stray birds live here, their roost has flown the kettle's gay ( i've always known ) so on we plod our different ways lone calendars proclaim our days great salmon leap yet onions weep until again there's dreams, our sleep ...
today isn’t christmas
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today isn’t christmas ( a n o b s e r v a t i o n )
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no twats in santa hats
are drinking & toasting
this script is a blank page
no murder is roasting
less forced-fun - more freedom
no hellibore's blooming
the shops are dead quiet
& all's unassuming
no snow only blossom
no church bells are ringing
no god-bothering choirs
just vernal birds singing
it's mid-may you wanker
don't fret yourself shitless
there's ages to go yet
today isn't christmas
( phew )
...
cheapskates on thin ice
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cheapskates on thin ice ( s o m e p o e m s t u f f )
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bargain hunters scan the land & prowl for prey all their days long bargain hunters pass it on & sell your soul ( sold for a song ) ...
wipe ‘n’ wash
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wipe ‘n’ wash ( an erm in verse but not ermine verse coz that’s stoats )
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is poetry real or just a word with just some words & how they feel ( ? ) where are my socks? is god still dead? is this your chin? & what is real ( ? ) ( fuck knows ) ...
countryside lanes
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countryside lanes ( a f e w w o r d s t o g o w i t h t h e p i c t u r e )
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narrower than roads up them hills they wind scrambled as a code onward thinks the mind plodding through the dales come sunshine or rain come high winds stroke gales there's countryside lanes ...
the curse of wednesday verse
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the curse of wednesday verse ( t w e l v e l i n e d i s c h a r g e )
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apple pips - sunk battleships great shapes of ape & cattle dips forks in roads & singing spoons my elbows glow impending doom holy cripes - shy poltergeists all ham's am' drammed that wrong's gone right chaffinches & challenges let's pray that wednesday manages ...
advice to my younger elf
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advice to my younger elf ( a p i s s i n ‘ p o e m )
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many tentacles
yes, love is an octopus
none identical
oft some are innocuous
cool like pentacles
or penguins in mortuaries
love's an octopus
& warfare's an irate flea
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137291
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resarf poetry 