( ? )

( my true love is a munter )

…

the furrows that you plough
above the frowning sight
of your siamese eyebrow

singular it sits
above your eyepatch
& your left red stare

a snorting snout
& a marmite brown mouth
– actual cauliflowers

as your ears
so hope disappears
yet the rest endears

a crotch so fishy
that even andrew windsor
would sweat

the traces of soup
upon the handlebars
of your lady moustache

& a bosom so south
that penguins nest
on your nipples

the hair on your palms
– on your lovely lady arms
& arse

– phwoar

…

whatever happened to the monkeypox apocalypse?

…

i thought we’d all be dead
but bugger all instead

i’ve checked under the bed
& rummaged in the attic

you’re not on t.v’s snooze
your old house is deserted

your flowerbed is thistles
the lawn is only earth

i’m on the cocoa pops
my third bowl in a row now

& yet my skin is smooth
like an eel on groovin’ bass

i’ve plunged the kitchen sink
& wondered were you real

or never really there
like the missing link?

perhaps a plot hole
or a cheeky cul-de-sac?

my favourite baddy
from season two-m twenty two?

better than the flu
& better lines too

you were the one
but the pantomime plays on

…

an open letter to most popular & thoroughly modern poets

…

dear darling stars

of this modern poetry

      we, the proper wrong’uns

      with rants in our pants

the scum of the erm

the gum on the sole

      of your muse’s shoe

      the muse of snoozing off

of popular you

who redefines purple

      & gets away with cliché

      because the bots love it

the flesh & the code

plus current thing platitudes

      & suckles on the tit

      of normalzzz shit

or some lovely words

about the hills & flowers

      or some boxes ticked

      ( you’re quilling in their survey )

well, you fucking bells

we exist as well

      underneath the bright

      of your brilliant bilge

as your roses a ring

we, the gobshites sing

…

my lucky penny

…

oh, my lucky penny

was found on a dung heap

as lightning struck

up the hairy anus cheeks

of brown fingered me

on the cusp of world war three

or so the papers claim

as the mad wind howled

& a big branch fell

from a silver birch tree

& snared us like a hare

with concussion for good measure

so it rained dead crows

& the new moon laughed

at my lucky penny

& lucky old me

…

seven more definitions of a poetry

…

~

a gravy train

without the gravy

or the train

~

a lost b-side

that even the drummer’s

forgotten about

~

a scribbled sneeze

a snotty breeze

of bless you

~

the life & times

of a true gobshite

the musical – on ice

~

a sausage role

not double ell

but oh-ell-eeh

~

the reason why

the dragonfly

breathes fire

~

or a turd of words

that we plop online

after logging on

…

one man band split

…

after the spanners of

      the backstage brawl

over groupies, hygiene

      royalty payments

& who should sit where

      on the coach / bus

the one man band

      broke apart – split up

his left arm’s in rehab

      frozen turkey cold

getting off the calpol

      the benylin & tizer

climbing spinning walls

      somewhere in antartica

his chest is at rest

      in a green death cult

his right arm’s gone solo

      & gospel-techno-metal

it slagged off all the others

      in the n.m.e

his arse is soiled & foiled again

      his legs have formed a duo

they’re working on new material

      – acid skiffle beats

his nob still plays the bongos

      & tours with harry styles

his chin is writing a novel

      & still keeps in touch with his tongue

both his cauliflower ears

      – are now a serving mayor

      left in daventry

plus the right in aberdare

his belly button’s

      on reality t.v

big ballroom dancing

      in the jungle kitchen

in a recent press release

      his head just said

“good riddance”

…