Poem

the downpour

~

the downpour ( some sheet )

…



i thudded on your leaky roof

i lurked within your murky drains

i squelched so in your shoes & boots

i tap danced on your window panes


i bore your garden many fruits

i drowned your rat - delayed your train

i pleased your duck, your swan & goose

as i ruined your cricket game


i soaked your laundry with my juice

i pissed upon your aeroplane

i quenched your trees - your beech & spruce

when i tickled your weather vane


as any pillock could deduce

with half their brain - i was the rain

but now there's sun - i'll soon vamoose

i'm silver puddles on your lane

...

soz etc.

~

soz etc. ( an extension of sumit from yesterday )

…


ripples of ivy & buckets of rain

sunday is thursday so much of the same

cloaked as the oak tree

but hope is key

ghosts in vague ruins with baffling chains


tardy drystone walls & bruises on arms

fresh scabs on kneecaps & clutched luckless charms

still as the fruit bowl

alive as the foal

wobbles in woodland & annals on palms


dallies in valleys & taps on the brain

bat flaps of evenings as rats race up drains

bare as the bony

as dead as the sea

brisk as the spring lamb - as deft as the flea


weasels in haystacks & barnstorms in barns

supper for breakfast on patchwork hill farms

quiant as the maypole

or pockets in holes

loons in old mill towns with tales in their yarns

...

apples ‘n’ pears

~

apples ‘n’ pears ( some apeth of daft for friday etc. )

…




the apple may not swat the goose

or pantomime or fill your boots

the pear may not outrun the hare

or abstract mime as flesh or juice


the apple may not kiss the moose

or basket weave or owl a hoot

the pear it may not answer prayers

or cloak the oak or loop the spruce


the apple may not throw abuse

at bats & toads in bespoke suits

the pear it may not glance in glares

at edge-less squares then eye-up newts


the apple may not brass a toot

or pirouette or lute a flute

the pear it may not scare the mayor

but nonetheless - they're both still fruits

...

as laundary dries

~

as laundry dries ( a reworking of an older post )

…




as clocks tick-tock - as laundry dries

& pigs wallow in filthy sties

i twiddle toes to kill some rhyme

whilst in the mind - a pantomime


as breezes blow - as fingers blame

& cress grows by the window pane

dick whittington has turned again

& mother goose is on the game


as facts are flung - as hats are donned

& fat ladies they sing of swans

alladin lamps the genie one

& cinderella's head has gone


as sheep get lost - as bridges sigh

& fuddled folk they wonder why

a beanstalk bursts towards the sky

as clocks tick-tock - as laundry dries

...

 

scarz ‘n’ tales

~

scarz ‘n’ talez ( a poem )

…


the brambles ripped off bits of skin

the nettles stang my snow-pale knees

the blackthorn left its wicked mark

the wasps kicked off then came the bees


the pollen rushed right up my nose

above my head - a buzzard soared

then duly shat upon my hat

the sun did blear - my eyes are sore


the ravens crowed a blackish din

& sappy wept the woodland trees

the hemlock rashed - things could be worse

i'm more odd socks than socrates


the goose grass stuck to sweaty clothes

the ants attacked as hornets swarmed

still breathing though - yeah, all's so so

it's summertime - it's war outdoors

...

 

plod-stuff

~

plod-stuff ( a true story )

…



our elbows glowed where noses shone

us muddled bunch so bumble on

through fields of green in sways of still

there is no breeze today upon


us squelchy sods so yon we plod

with thoughts of warts & peas in pods

as badgers burst & gardens groan

whilst on the road - a toad's skin's shod


our ankles itch - is this a gift?

we look to lunch as pollen drifts

we follow paths & fallow deer

as sieve-like minds they gently sift


when all is spun a tune a is hummed

the back door calls, the walk is done

the annals wait to hear of tales

beneath a montomic sun

...