This is a post
from a poet who knows
no difference
between art
& arse,
sorry.
Poetry
on blue plastic bags
If blue plastic bags
keep blowing in your face
indoors.
Then close the blinds & windows
& listen as the wind blows
calmer.
June Confusion
Confused in June
& up to no good,
trying to spot a ghost orchid
in a haunted wood.
Whilst waiting for the cows to stand
& straggling the rain,
this woodland shelter helps for now
but still these crucial conundrums remain…
If it’s something that you don’t need
can it ever be a bargain?
Is God really dead
or did he fake it like John Darwin?
Do them electric eels
ever give themselves an electric shock?
& why am I the only person I know
that intentionally wears odd socks?
Answers on a postcard please,
I’ll reimburse you for the stamp.
https://www.museumwales.ac.uk/rhagor/article/ghost_orchid/
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Darwin_disappearance_case
There’s Got To Be Another Way…
I love clementines & tangerines
I’ve often got ’em in,
the segments taste delicious
but I struggle digesting the skin…
(glug)
Is the opposite
of swimmingly
drowningly
or sinkingly?
(glug)
Exile Limerick
Some minds get confined to the attic,
where they’re now allowed to be odd & erratic,
because here folk play the spoons,
& rub their face against balloons,
& still get surprised by the static.
ay up me redux
1.
Well I’m afraid a blank page
is always the first stage,
so grab a pencil or pen
& get jotting again…
2.
Part two,
a time to pause & review,
to re-examine the splurge
& to make sense of shed words
-yeh, fuck it, that’ll do…
3.
& lastly it’s part 3,
eccles cake & mug o’ tea
then sod it
& leave it edit free,
plus ignore all household chores
& instead nip out for early doors,
because it’s well easy
this poetry malarkey…
Reet,
cheers…
The Great Sausage Dog Question
Where would balloon artists be without sausage dogs?
They’d have nothing to fold,
an unborn legacy
stagnated
deflated
sadly
never to be told.
Where would balloon artists be without sausage dogs?
They’d have fuck all to fold,
cos a cock & 2 bollocks
is a touch on the rude side
for a birthday party
when he’s 8 years old.
[be your own ghost & haunt yourself]
Can I just say that
I’m lactose tolerant
because you don’t hear about us any more.
We eat cheese alone
surrounded by our own
ectoplasm.
David Irving Denier
I’m a David Irving denier,
to many people
this
is a controversial thought,
but in my opinion
he never existed,
freedom of speech mate,
see you in court…
(again)
resarf poetry 