"Actually that Blind Vengeance does have legs & wings & fantastic ankles amongst many other things like hectares of charisma" The steaming Kettle sings. "Hurry up" ...
Poetry
1 o’ them
Them Javelins have been to far-flung places & the average poem has 18 point 3 elbows. The Pheasant need not placate Dark Forces & George de Mestral well he created Velcro ...
grab a pew…
Mildly unamused Libran Tree Surgeons, frenetic Phrenologists, diabetic Numerologists. Liquid Petroleum Gasp enthusiasts, Mesolithic Mendicants, all Entities great & sentinent. Including secret-mitten-knitters, Visigoth staticians plus the Venerable Lamashtu - grab a pew ...
madrigal stuff
They sang of the many elbows of Love all 11 thousand & VII point 8, they sang of the Duckworth Lewis Method & the 1 giant conjoined eyebrow of Hate. They sang of the phosphorous nostrils of War which have been kickin' off since pre-Days-of-Yore, they sang of the Skylark & the Sand Martin & of Charity-Shop-Shop-Lifting harsh but bargains. The sang of Daydreams then Rainbows; variegation magic & those moments when the brain goes, they sang of Metamorphosis - a chrysalis, the fibs of Sisyphus & Great Uncle Syphilis. They sang of the Badger & THE HOLY GRAIL, eye of Newt plus the Pony tail, they sang of Beige-Death with its puce, relentless fangs yet the days they're getting lighter Fuck-Shiter - they sang, they sang ...
today the sun went orange
Today the Sun went orange & none of the guessperts know why but nonetheless there it sits all massive like its citrus-based coloursake shining in the sky. Maybe it's fake-tan or fence preserver or it wants to go marching with William's fan club in July - twinkle - thinkle - the child prodigies they wonder as today the Sun went orange & none of the guessperts know why ? ...
may contain traces of seepage
I found a poem inside a poem inside a poem inside a poem well beyond & within its pungent oniony skin. Hiding between layers with Lord Lucan & a Russian doll whilst wondering am I the end of this or merely the tip of begin ? ...
shattoodoo
Check inbox for latest emails from Barabus & Banardos, squeeze avocados then FREE TERRY WAITE. Translate Milton into Pingu knock knock who's there? Igloo Igloo who? Igloo let me in I'll tell you not this side of gist, this is the middle of a list ...
in another reality, we ran
You 1st tickled my fantasy in History when I was sweet-lucky 13, as just when I thought that shite-squat could top the Vikings we went all Third Reich like - nice 1 Mr. Green. You were a true Aryan beauty with an air of mystery who had a thing for sweaty Austrian men, yet we're divided by time & capsules of cyanide but oh mein Eva Braun if I could love you then ...
hobbyist apocalypse
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The Campanologists decided -
to end with a clang defy the essence of time in chimey unison rang. The Philatelists pored & ogled through their Stanley Gibbons books whilst licking the front of their favourites & shedding tears - with final goodbye looks. The Ikebanists they seemed to at last lose their powers so now devoid of their Dark-Witchcraft unarranged lovely flowers. Plus the poet-lot simply wrote on as all shit crumbled & evil winds blew oceans drowned & mountain ranges tumbled but their stray words dreamed of dawns anew ...
all geese are nazis when they walk
All geese are Nazis when they walk - no silly talk it's POLITICS not twaddle. Even if it's just another goosey-gander-waddle; webbed feet left 1st then right they're terribly Third Reich ...
resarf poetry 