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piss off christmas ( my christmas poem )
…
then christmas rears
the dark of the year
glib festive twats
shit festive cheer
so spend spend spend
you're dosh fucking shite
it's all a con
for jesus christ
that mortal fraud
yet there's pagan roots
oft ignored when
it doesn't suit
those bibled scum
( they're )
their devil itself
piss off christmas
you're bad for our health
...
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wake-up poem by some pisspot-poet or other
…
begin begin
the opening part
act one scene one
the dawn of start
the cock has crowed
then died on his arse
there is no script
it's shit not art
it's not a song
there aren't any words
the cock? piffle
there are no birds
just make it up
go on - have a splurge
mar blank a4
with bastard verse
...
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why the brush … by some so & so of so
…
a brush with daft a brush with paint a rustic scene warm strokes of quaint a head brush rush a brush with teeth a brush with hair & or chimneys a brush with witch a brush of broom a brush with death that dance of doom the burning brush a foxy tail we scrub-up well brushes prevail ...
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( nearly home now ) by 4 couplets for saturday morning
…
yes i could see my house from here if all this mist would disappear if this piss rain would dissipate if this fog would evaporate if these glasses were super-strength if this hilltop well up it went just like some magic bean-stalked plant ( down there somewhere's my house of ant ) ...
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brown cow critique ( a shortz rantz poem ( z ) )
…
is this a poem? well how about now? yeah but it rhymes how now brown cow? as i'm not a cow unyoked of the plough then or swine-inclined un-boared of the sow as birds chirp aloud on branches of bough flightier than thou quite trite brown cow so stick it where suns don't shine brown cow sweat forms on brow i throw in my towel ...
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conversations with florence ( a poetrys poem of a )
…
i've been chatting
with the statue
of florence
in town
we discussed lamps
the crimea
& owls
the medici
light-winged dryads
her stone lips
unmoved
yet sound
( she's always good
for a natter
if i'm knockin' around )
...
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about folk ( a short poetical sprawl by some scroat on a shite laptop )
…
well we can tell a lot about folk
from the places that they go
the things that they say
& all the things that they know
how do they like their carrots
& the corduroy that they wear
do they shave their palms or
is there still plenty of hair
do they believe in goblins
have they ever killed a man
baked an upside down cake
have they baked a tarte tatin
which lunar phase they worship
but mainly from what they're like
the stuff that they do &
all the fucking shite they write
...
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this handwriting ( a poetrys for wedenesday afternoon poem poems )
…
this handwriting an obscured code a phone-scribble or doctor's note ( ? ) observations with time to kill who to kill next a spider's will ( ? ) does this pen work? summed equations all too human quite alien ( ? ) a little list or masterplan just gibberish ( ? ) ( hands understand ) ...
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operation poppycock ( xxiv lines read of poetrys )
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yes dare to clash wear green & red an offish hat on obscured head then don odd socks striped polka dots odd oxford shoes unorthodox give chicken pox back to chickens drink hot malt drinks on spring mornings mix acids with them alkalis tea with coffee ooh toffee - nice celebrate yule in burry june the fork's a knife the knife's a spoon you rebel you their rules - who cares? so fuck 'em all he who dares dares ...
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mater nature provides by crispin dawdles ( 13 read line )
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we're foraging for our next meal out in them wilds we're frisking fields for juicy moss or budding shoots the less known sorts of nature's fruits we're foraging - berries 'n' nuts 'edged 'erbs - fungi aye all that stuff ( why ) twenty quid we found last easter sat on a stile - free takeaway pizza - ...
resarf poetry 