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dodged ( a semi-autobiographical piece offering )
…
we've dodged bullets from farmer's guns geddoff moy lanndd ( quick - leg it - run ) we've dodged the rain that soaks the ground & dodgy men that own fairgrounds we've dodged loose slates that weigh a ton - those webs those giant spiders spun - we've dodged the wrath of scared cows but we've been jammy up 'til now ...
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tangerines not gangrene ( please ) ( a little poem for a sunkday )
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tangerines not gangrene ( please ) to stop the rot vitamin c is what i need segmentally not trenchfootly - it's tangerines - ...
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new wellington boots ( a poem fit for a duke in a duffel coat )
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hark - the fields are alive many squelches below heavy rain's sodden toll as folk go to & fro yes them ducks have done well chocolate caked is the land there is mud upon mud but it stops not my plans as i stride without pride lest i slip & then fall 'stead a spring in my steps like the bouncing of balls as that sun-thing comes out then shines on yon green shoots my feet keep bone-dry in - new wellington boots - ...
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solvent-free muse ( a true tale in that verse )
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oh my muse - solvent-free no you cannot fool me so i still sniff your glues undeceiving are you with your false claims i find as it's all in the mind so once more i relent my soul longs for your scent ...
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an education ( i.e what they taught me )
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each night i burn down my old school all schools are cruel like zoos or gruel or coarse whetstone - flames climb, smoke blows yes every night - i don't suppose i'll ever dream of something else the evil teachers scream then melt they're trapped inside - this is my bliss i am a mental arsonist ...
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robots don’t float ( some real history, not that shit they you teach in schools )
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oh otto von bismarck
was a robot as thatcher
programmed by that
hidden hand
ferrous much like stalin
one day he fell off his boat
then sank beneath
the ocean
- robots don't float -
...
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( the plan ) ( some of a poemz a of )
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i'm ignoring myself in the hope that i'll notice then wonder how i are now aye - wonder as we do what i'm up to these days? do i still write this gubbins? so fingers crossed that i'm not ignoring myself too ...
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it’s not the end of the moth ( some truths )
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it's the end of the month
not the end of the moth
so don't cry - my butterfly
just the month's fucked off
next month we'll still have night,
wardrobes of clothes in lofts
plus the allure of the flame
so we'll still have moths
...
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grim again ( some weather-verse )
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it's grim again
grey clouds & rain
the river's full
as are the drains
it's far from warm
most hide indoors
shit's relentless
this deluge pours
yet on time goes
as cruel winds blow
when will it end?
nobody knows
i hope it stays
fuck part-time rays
the sun's a ****
i love these days
( x )
...
~
( in person ) ( some stuff of poem )
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i wrote you a letter on the back of my hand ( the back of my hand ) ( the back of my hand ) i delivered it in person as i'd ran out of stamps ( i'd ran out of stamps ) ( i'd ran out of stamps ) yet i still used your postcode & your current address ( your current address ) ( your current address ) but the rain fell on the way leaving just a smudgy mess ( just a smudgy mess ) ( just a smudgy mess ) ...
resarf poetry 