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a glimpse of heaven ( a limerick )
…
there was a man from devon who caught a glimpse of heaven up on dartmoor he briefly saw six angels - maybe seven ( ? ) ... ( author notes ) well, it was only a glimpse after all ...
Poem
there was a young lady from surrey
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there was young lady from surrey ( a limerickz )
…
there was a young lady from surrey who sped through her days in a flurry her decisions were rash her appearance - slapdash far too hurried to think about worries ...
new year confusion
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new year confusion ( 24 lines of that there poemz-shat )
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the year is dead
long live the year
the month of jan's
two-faced head rears
there's rain outside
on new year's day
december's piss
washes away
down dated drains
everything's old
everything's new
old tales untold
where be my head?
i am confused
oh mulberries
time's spiked my juice
it's early days
but is it though
- oh look, a ghost
strange shades they glow
unseen before
by mortal eyes
i give up on
the whats & whys
( ? )
...
( suddenly all’s fine )
~
( suddenly all’s fine ) ( after this poem it’s out of the system )
…
why are we here? writing these poems? we could be playing golf hitting those balls yeah - watch out & fore into those bunkered holes with our golf clubs our special golf chums we're all so golfly dressed retired planners retired c.i.d a dodgy sweatered mess ...
cautionary ambles
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cautionary ambles ( some lines of the year’s scrapz )
…
never trust a thin chef
never trust a clean rat
never trust those clear skies
never trust those fat cats
never trust a drunk monk
never trust a seesaw
never trust those goblins
never trust those detours
never trust all sonnets
never trust an m.p
never trust a flatfish
never trust the gentry
never trust a kelpie
gift horse fare - gobshite rhymes
never trust this word stuff
keep wary at all times
...
repetition is the key
~
( repetition is the key )
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repetition is the key repetition is the key repetition is the key ( et cetera ) ...
( she tried )
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( she tried ) by 8 lines of fuck it, oh wells …
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mother used to tell me
never pen a poem
all poems are wicked
they're bad for our health
tie up your shoelaces
& don't talk to strange men
i am now a strange man
i talk to myself
...
bits of this poem
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bits of this poem ( some brief list-truths )
…
bits of this poem
have been scribble-scrawled before
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skiving in a cable car
during the war,
hiding from a poltergeist
halfway up mam tor,
dreaming in an airing cupboard
breathing through a straw
_
it never goes anywhere
...
what the fog … ?
~
what the fog … ? ( a foggy poem-read )
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the views have vanished here today here has no distance just this grey i saw the flying dutchman sail in silhouette form down yon vale along yon river with this chill surrounded by a lack of hills oh has my mind as focus gone? oh what the fog is going on? ...
opening other people’s post
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opening other people’s post ( by 64 syllable read )
…
opening other people's post
the old tenants - the many ghosts
that have since fled - some new address
such strange names on those envelopes
there may be gifts - a ten pound note
from uncle fuss & auntie dote
or a death threat ( you're effing next )
so far just shit
we live in hope
...
resarf poetry 