then when i was younger roughly by the age of 3 old macdonald was a true farmer figure to me he taught me all the farming things a child should ever know with an e-i e-i e-i o ...
Poem
think great things
when you're somewhat down in a state of deflate cheer yourself up by thinking of some things that were great like king alfred's burnt cakes or world war one the great train robbery ( that's better, it's gone ) ...
( technical difficulties )
"testing testing one two three buckle my shoe bitch slap my knee can you hear me at the back? now how about the front? spoonerisms rule you cotal tunt so two one one two whack up the bass the treble's on a level take that shat-face so testing working - fingers crossed & hope good evening wembley amen, i'm the pope" ...
sweet arson dreams
in last night's slept tight well i burned my old school, a church that was askin' for it burnin' stuff's cool then i set alight a scout hut which went off with a whooosh baden powell was fascist scum so 'take that hitler youth' then i torched a y'oldey haybarn f*ck it - on a whim then last but not least windsor castle i hope the queen was in & then i woke up grinning readied for day's shite strife recharged by sweet arson dreams the trick is not to do it in real life ( ! ) ...
always breakfast
yes of course there's always breakfast the meal with time on its hands a pot of darjeeling - look, a spider on the ceiling endlessly appealing buttered toast with raspberry jam the other meals i find pretentious i've never ever rated the rest lunch is a funny bunch - supper's for apostles so god bless breakfast coz you're the f*ckin' best ...
painful is
well painful is an agony aunt unable to see where her bare feet should go regarding the brick wall due to the blindfold plus it was night time stubbing her toe - ouch ...
celebrity livestock
cadge for an autograph off a local cow on the off-chance that they will become renowned within their field & pastures which idly surround - what's it worth ( ? ) ...
in regards to the sun
often i stop & wonder in regards to the sun not the tabloid press lot no - not mister murdoch's scum but the actual sun yes that blurry cancer gun which some folk worship yet albino owls shun ( like ) what's its favourite cheese? does it like its tea quite strong? does it rise in the east or are the compasses all wrong? has it ever got its hat on or is that just a song? is it hollow or a hologram? these queries just keep on ...
grow your own poems
grow your own poems it's the future that's the dream gently plant then piss upon some magic poem beans they'll shoot up like a stalky-thing then up y' poems climb 'til you reach this cloudy giant place the land of pantomime ( the end ) ...
( that was fast )
i awoke in mid-april at 8 in the morning already it's springtime a year in a day come 9 it was may then come 3 o'clock august september tea time midnight - hogmanay ...
resarf poetry 