... Like a harvest moon in pensive June or a Boxing Day in great late May, or a shipwreck sailing the 7 seas you're out of sync Dear Poetry,
Poetry
the streets in town
The streets in town are fucked tonight yet its lights shine bright through the tardy hardy shite. & as an old man coughs passed a boarded-up shop all warmth retreats but indoors it sleeps ...
tuesday afternoon poetry
Canonized like a saintly human ball whilst she sells sea shells & bricks from Hadrian's Wall plus there's a storm in a teacup in a barn on a farm & a monkey in the attic charged with static quite erratic - PUT THE KETTLE ON ...
quite ominous stuff
A loud thunder cloud clapped then some scaffolding collapsed as an evil wind blew so the Queen followed-through. A 1-headed magpie exclaimed a single sad sigh thence flew under a ladder as the lunatics grew madder. Plus all the cats were howling & the turtle doves were growling until it was clear to all so bollocks to crystal balls. Yes it's unjoyously unsurprising there's shat nastiness arising & this shite might get tough coz that's quite ominous stuff ...
21st century twaddle
My left sleeve smells of oniony yet none of the onions wreak of sleeve & neither of my big toes are buniony I can stand quite comfortably - 15 sugars please. All roads lead to Prietenegg not that hungry but I'd like an egg preferably scrambled as the language of the brain or Humpty Dumpty - post-he-fell-tumbly - so welcome to our domain x ...
1 of these daze…
A cacophony of broccoli - it's a brassica-based monotony, a demonic-lampshade & a CABAL of sinister lampreys. An estate agent with a spine & soul, a maenad sleeping & a rather arsey troll. The Plague of Justinian plus a Troop of Morris Men but very nearly - bloody almost if I was me I'd blame them ...
shaturday
Infuriated by cross stitchers, lark twitchers & harp pickers. Genocide, the M25, that wicked bee hive & the stench on Fly-Tip Drive. Then shafted by the MINING INDUSTRY, a minor celebrity, ~ that shat brevity ~ , a distinct lack of levity & non-longevity. Artistic gymnasts, Benedictine skin flaps, holes in Poundland bin bags plus the pun had run away - you bastard Shaturday x ...
no added shudder
Winter arrived unannounced last night a brief smidgening of snow-stuff the cheeky shite, a dainty scattering of white shit the seasonal squit but with plenty more in store I'm sure do I mind? - Not a bit x ...
access all everywheres
Reality is a turquoise hedgehog in a constant state of flux, so probably-normally not a turquoise hedgehog it might be a greengage or ducks. Or a stone circle, mandrake or myrtle - bubble wrap - bubble bath its interspersals are MULTIVERSAL ...
terms in contradiction
Poetry is practically invincible like a tough young Buddhist cat, a ball-resistant moth or a warfarin tolerant rat. As poetry refuses to die like a relative - well fortified & remaining unconquerable, with the keep tower standing proud its lofty attic in the clouds but in many ways it's still very vulnerable ...
resarf poetry 