he of brighter bicycles


he of brighter bicycles ( selcycib rethgirb fo eh )

i’m a breathing pantomime

sings the scribbled ink

      with some super glue

      stick a pube or two

he of brighter bicycles

an easter egregore

      all is throbbing thickets

      & toads upon toadstools

rabbits not rubble

the catch is in the double

     trembles of treble

      as hares box the air

hespero & i

wandered of a morning

      on the road of romans

      quarrymen & drovers

time is like a light

in the dim of thought

      nought is but an egg

      scrambling the smeg

weaver of before

in the mirror – rayed

      ‘fore the dawn’s middle eight

       & chorus to fade

nonsense talk


nonsense talk ( some truths as poem )

i love it when they say oh-kay

ooh look - a bird - is that the time?

i really must be on my way

enjoy your simple, little mind

there's gubbins blowing in the wind

such bollocks on the syllabus

it's good to question everything

you're full of shit like sisyphus

it's good to fuck about - it is

consider march - its boxing hares

yes magic's real like boring pricks

i'm on the ground & in the air

reality's insanity

so all or nothing's nonsense here

my other selves also agree

we're vetting too

please disappear


wake-up poem


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


& fridges


& fridges ( a short list for nutters to shout in public )







farm folk





watch it




a crocus

train wreck


heed speed

synthetic sweat




the internet








& fridges


orangey apologies


orangey apologies by f7863.rynz9 ( 30 second scan )

i find myself quite stuck

when penning poems

re the orange

the closest rhyme

that i can find

to orange

is porridge

& then of course there's forage

& borage

& cottage

which are all a bag o' wank

so i curse thee orange




this quiet life


this quiet life by trad anon (under a minute read or your time back for free !)

( it's too early )

for bat swarms

or bat flaps

or catnaps

or nosebleeds

or whisky

or fallouts

or mishaps

or cross stitch

or llamas

or scared crows

or farmers

with shotguns

they'll harm us

like clocks

they alarm us

or plum jam

or ghost tales

or nightjars

or toenails

or shits

in a bottle

or norway

or folk tales

or wetwipes

or dry ice

or tamed seas

or wild rice

yes right now will


this here

this quiet life

( ssshhhh )


there’s a diary in my mind


there’s a diary in my mind by little samuel bo pepys

there's a diary in my mind

it saves on space & writing time

ive kept one since the age of five

the annals of

this life of mine

each night before i go to bed

i think some more things - thoughts are shed

into my diary else instead

perhaps the journal

in my head



brevity keeps on calling


brevity keeps on calling by 20 second read

brevity keeps on calling

it whispers in the wind

i run home & bolt the doors

but somehow it creeps in

brevity keeps on calling

i quiver in my skin

like an ant in a wormhole

we're going for a spin

brevity keeps on calling

i lobbed my mobile phone

into the canal's dark depths

tied with twine to a stone

( yet )

brevity keeps on calling

it won't leave me alone

its language is atrocious

& on & on it drones