~

sunday morn verse  (  s o m e  p o e t r y  –  s h e e t  )

…

as sundries call & nymphs blow horns

& bollocks itch beyond the dawn

look feathers fall on fresh mowed lawns

perhaps it's snow? unsure is morn


as too am i - the ghost of why ( ? )

gazes on all with wonky eyes

please simplify - gods of the sky

my chin's still there & chins don't lie


the kettle sings of nettle stings

& gammy toes then pleasant things

unsettling yet bettering

somewhere light bulbs are questioning


my head is sore - all rocky tors

cold custard skins & wild bore gores

i plead no more yet on she roars

oh poetry

you fucking whore

...