~
bus station poem ( a real-life scribble )
…
at bay twenty's
human zoo
patience - stations
queues for queues
old folk natter
that & this
odd folk they write
shit like this
un-tinned sardines
waiting for
godot or the
six point four
or the rapture
trumpets blown
( hurry driver )
( help us home )
...
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my two thousandth wife ( a true tale )
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well now my two thousandth wife yes i've been married a few times i'm no bigamist or sheikh no just particularly like cake plus i'm good at stealing rings so then it doesn't cost a thing one day she burst into flames in a sudden cloudburst of rain which to you might sound bizarre but honestly that's how things are in seconds mere she was ash unsavable - gone in a flash next down the drains her ash went as my shocked eyes wept sad laments then came grief - the deepest woe but that was many wives ago ...
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the year of the cock ( some a poetrys of the )
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all the chicken tasted of chicken
so i stopped eating chicken
all the meat tasted of chicken
so i don't eat any meat
all the produce of the beasts
it tasted of chicken
so i became a vegan
( but )
all the fruit & vegetables
taste of chicken
- everything's pissin' chicken -
...
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the natives are hostile ( some poemz )
…
the natives are hostile they trust not our kind they stare as we wander glares there in their eyes in this little hamlet where air tastes of fear two miles from our village we're not from 'round here ...
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look dad – no hands ( a true tale )
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look dad - no hands
look dad - no legs
look dad - no bod'
look dad - no head
look dad, i'm invisible
look
...
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there may be ghost tales … ( a warning )
…
up on yon moorland amid eerie fog where heather grows so by y'oldey peat bogs beyond the tree-line where cautious owls hoot there may be ghost tales & legends to boot ...
~
musings on the arts ( a hmmm )
…
most of it's shit some of it's alright occasionally it's brilliant ( but ) most of it's shit ...
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( then ) an obz er vation
…
yet when does winter become spring? as nutjob snowdrops bloom through snow? as buds begin their blossoming? when birds sing so ( they seem to know ) ...
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mind your language ( some spillage )
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" mind your language " said my head's brain in silent thought confusion reigns who's thinking who? what's doing what? the plot thickens dot - dot - dot - dot ...
~
beethoven’s van ( some poem )
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a man with a van is a man of the van ludwig van man beethoven man van of the man orchestrate hands conducting van man of the van ( ludwig van man ) ...
resarf poetry 