~
be a duck ( a v e r y m o d e r n e s s a y )
…
anyone can be duck just quack & waddle that's a doddle ...
Poetry
do your own beats
~
do your own beats ( a p o e m ( ? ) )
…
early morning birdsong not afternoon but classic tunes proper twitchered verse mate them middle eight ( chorus to fade ) ...
fair weather fucker fare
~
fair weather fucker fare ( t o d a y ‘ s s h i t i n s h i t p o e m – f o r m )
…
where do these people come from to walk here in this sun? come warmish spring - they're everywhere back in winter - there's none i care not for part-timers as nature never sleeps i flee to fields to hear my thoughts as mobs plod down the streets in the village of strangers it's very strange today not strange like loads of raining toads no, sadly not that way 'stead pavements crammed with randoms the gawpy sort that stare whilst clutching at their shit straws - yeah fair weather fucker fare ...
but statues …
~
but statues … ( v e r s e )
…
musical yet frozen silent words are spoken magic like some potions solid are their notions barring some erosion steadfast their emotions people have their moments ( but ) statues have their moment ...
beneath them pines
~
beneath them pines ( s o m e v e r s e )
…
beneath them pines
those pinely trees
i pause to feel
a timely breeze
then sense the scents
which remind me
of toilets clean
thrones for queens
beneath them pines
there evergreen
thoughts of first cars
fresh as taxis
disinfectant
my mind is free
to dream of these
beneath pine trees
...
the word on the sheet
~
the word on the sheet ( s o m e s h e e t )
…
wishin' bits of which not
pissin' ink in piss pots
lob it to them cobbles then
scramble games of hopscotch
jungles in the tundra
mumbles versus wonder
turnip wars the musical
hark - a thud of thunder
grapples in a vortex
apples in a cortex
pincer this - a nifty swish
swiss army knife forceps
straw bales in a stable
english fuckin' able
blame the breeze that blew mid-noon
& those many fables
wankers
...
brew fancier
~
brew fancier ( a v e r s e )
…
late a.m
hot beverage
that's better - now slurp
then sit &
read book-backs
yes drift through their blurb
oh think not
of inkblots
or tossers lest twerps
ten spoonfuls
it's friday
outside the birds chirp
...
thoughts of my true love
~
thoughts of my true love ( a p o e m )
…
in the afternoon's lull well i ( sigh ) thought of thee when a wasp stung me arse beside a hawthorn tree next a pigeon shat on on me sitting duck head but i cursed not said bird dreams of you dear instead then the cockroaches came nasty ones - called me names oh but that's why they're cocks so i played not their game as a big bastard rat scurried in its rat hole oh my true love you work you work in pest control ...
poem for trad-anon
~
poem for trad-on ( a n o d e – i o u s v e r s e – t h i n g )
…
my favourite poet's trad-anon out there somewhere as avalon we still receive their royalties all us wrote them in longs of yon those folk rhymes & them magic songs wise old sayings from no, it's gone with shades of between sleep & wake the greatest poet's trad-anon ...
walking in the dusk trails
~
walking in the dusk trails ( a p o e t r y z )
…
snails crunch beneath trod feet they don't watch where they're going blackbirds speak their last words wise owls emerge - all knowing night has almost woken streetlights resume their glowing walking in the dusk trails we're roaming in the gloaming ...
resarf poetry 