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stunts & on ( a quite modern twist on a very old turn )
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jump into puddles unsure of their depth cross all your digits then wish for the best stride into cobwebs where there may be ghosts live for a weekend on plum jam on toast pretend your uncle once ate his trousers drunk one shrove tuesday sniff every flower several years later handstands on flapjack skipping in cloudbursts many a mishap ( x ) ...
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a park in the walk ( a poemtrys for thee ( z ) )
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then write with your hands let ink meet paper breathe on your bowls green be the creator blow soapy bubbles scratch irksome mishaps dangle those fangles wiggle those knick-knacks in roundabout ways teeter on seesaws polish them word-turds endorse all detours a park in the walk brass your own bandstand think of the swinged things then write with your hands ...
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why do psychics adverise … ? ( a brief query )
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oh why do psychics advertise?
it should all be done with their minds
then we'd just know - thoughts harmonise
a siren song from their third eyes
...
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weasels keep on popping
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yes weasels keep on popping exploding out-the-blue yet no one really knows why for some reason they do we've tried blaming the weather each other & ourselves acts of god or 'terrorists' but that shit never helps the science folk are puzzled they'd answer if they could the governments says keep calm but stay away from woods one blast could rip an ear-off or kill you if you're old thems old trad rhymes - they know why pop goes the weasel ( that's us told ) ...
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money thoughts ( a brief poetical discharge )
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if i think of money
then i think of greed
divisions - divide & rule
struggles - suppressed mouths to feed
spineless wanker bankers
bullshit, death & woe
offer us a fiver though
chances are i won't say no
...
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you’re history ( a brief poetical non-paradigm ( essay fragment ) )
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your viking moods your saxon cross your maypoled frame & obby oss your gramophone y'old pants in ants glass-mad like charles the sixth of france your roman nose with ears to match the nose you pict your adolf tache your warts & all they tortured me sweet dungeoned dear you're history ...
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encore … ( a contemporary sonnet )
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as the actress said to the bishop thanks for the clap ...
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in the realm of early evening ( 10 lines of read )
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in the realm of early evening just beyond afternoon's grasps bats 'n' blackbirds interweaving confluences pebble-dashed too far now for night's gobshite fare free of sunny morning's cheer all maps agree the whys & wheres x eves the spot ( you are here ) ...
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varicella zoster & thereabouts ( a brief yearning )
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dear chickenpox i miss you lots once you were mine i had you once do you recall? oh - years ago so many since for you although i'm sure one day as sure as worms the cunning ones catch early birds quite soon you'll turn & kill us all just like you killed them dinosaurs ...
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the mystery of soup ( a brief treatise )
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soup the food that makes us piss soup the drink that makes us shit confusing, isn't it ( ? ) ...
resarf poetry 