the breeze picked up & sucked the final piece of the jigsaw from the grip of my finger things then out the open window 'that's cromwell's last wart' i huffed so i chased said piece of jigsaw down the lane then o'er them dales for centuries to no avail ( the end ) ... ( author nodes ) yes, breezes can suck too in fact every time a breeze blows somewhere it sucks somewhere else that's equilibrium & day 1 in wind school cheers ...
foxes don't wear gloves & i've never seen a bee don a bonnet in or on it foxes don't wear gloves no ( none of the above ) ...
in medieval times well the keys were so much bigger plus the locks were far larger than today yet the people were smaller yes we've grown taller & the keys & locks have gone the other way this poem you may say is devoid of a point like a fly once plucked of its wings but at this going rate keys will soon be subatomic then we'll never ever find the fucking things ...
there's spitting & there's rain in the middle there's drizzle sometimes all 3 come at once the skies delight in riddles there's hail, sleet & snow plus every week or so frogs the trick is to be amphibious too all gifts from the gods so crack on through the lot ...
learn your own self-myths know your pungent onions embellish every blemish or your ship's surely sunken grow your own toenails respect the power of bunion learn your own self-myths know your pungent onions ...
i was amble-plodding down a y'oldey wonky lane to my left a field of donkeys in the head an empty brain to my right a field of peas when the visions burst forth yes pods a plenty as a jenny eeyored i saw next ash wednesday it rained around 3ish a ginormous artichoke an otter feeling peevish a baboon in a wedding dress - 2 pixies playing badminton & then shite faded out to nowt - should i inform the vatican ( ? ) ...
on a piss-wet afternoon in june i dusted the dusty bits humming some tunes the radetzky march then the theme from pingu on a piss-wet afternoon in june ...
the girl with carrots for fingers had actual carrots for fingers i met her one crunchy candlemas eve hiding in a wood amidst the frosty old trees the girl with carrots for fingers oh how her carrot touch lingers she escaped from a farm-lab then lived on the run a super-hush experiment & potentially; weapon yes the girl with carrots for fingers don't worry - her hair wasn't ginger we spoke of a future her voice was a song but come the yawn of morning-thing that carrot girl had gone ...
loads of moon ago lived the man who invented sneezing he claimed it was an accident crossed with a fluke 'it just popped out one evening' he apologised at first saying 'sorry that's weird shat, that's wrong' but soon other people starting sneezing too - it's funny what things catch on ...
i hosted my fantasy dinner party foursome in last sleep's culinary dream chris packham then rosa luxemburg judas iscariot & idi amin ~ everyone loved the trifle idi asked me for the recipe ...
resarf poetry 