~
original shit ( a p o e m )
…
well all this shit is original shit as twas handcrafted by a blithering tit & all these shites are original writes i only steal cars in the darkness of night these bastard rhymes i'm afraid they're all mine blame god or the fates or the gemini mind there is no off this bollocks never stops knockers eat a cock & then a dead a dead tramp's sock ( bon appétit ) ...
~
wasps in the loft ( a n o t h e r ? )
…
there are wasps in the loft but my knees are bee-free there's a buzz from atop oft that buzz follows me when i pop down the shops for some jam & honey it's those wasps from the loft ( fuckers ) ...
~
who the fork are you? ( ? )
…
fear is a stranger saying hello who the fork are you? leave me alone fear is all gawpy glances & stares mind your own beeswax why are you there? fear is conspiring scheming & plots casting long shadows & the what-not fear is a city fear is a town fear is a wanker fear is a clown ...
~
otters in lockets ( a n y o n e c a n d o h a i k u )
…
otters in lockets in pocket universes god has no armpits ...
~
an oak tree on saint george’s day ( s o m e s h i t )
…
an oak tree on saint george's day no dragons though stay on your guard so grab a twig then sharpen it yeah, watch y'self dragons are hard & think of poets as we go a-wandering for country yards bill s. is born - bill is no more the bard is dead long live that bard ...
~
all the kitchen foil ( a h m m m . . . )
…
all the kitchen foil & that sparkle in your eyes plus the moonlight's vanished too ( those bastard magpies ) ...
~
sunday morn verse ( s o m e p o e t r y – s h e e t )
…
as sundries call & nymphs blow horns & bollocks itch beyond the dawn look feathers fall on fresh mowed lawns perhaps it's snow? unsure is morn as too am i - the ghost of why ( ? ) gazes on all with wonky eyes please simplify - gods of the sky my chin's still there & chins don't lie the kettle sings of nettle stings & gammy toes then pleasant things unsettling yet bettering somewhere light bulbs are questioning my head is sore - all rocky tors cold custard skins & wild bore gores i plead no more yet on she roars oh poetry you fucking whore ...
~
oh to be a pony ( s o m e s t u f f )
…
oh to be a pony grazing by the gorse in lush pastures where i'd feel a little horse not a little hoarse though shite jokes? neigh - begone doctor, doctor - piss off vets & all do one ...
~
sheep shearing season ( f o l k p o e m s t i l e n o t s t y l e )
…
it's sheep shearing season since bleak season's stopped barring the odd light frost so fleece off them flocks it's sheep shearing season that time of the year so round 'em up, dip 'em then shear shepherds shear ...
~
when elbows explode … ( h a i k u y o u j i m m y )
…
when elbows explode weasels shit in kitchen sinks supper is ruined ...
