Poem

pass it all on…

 Nan used to tell me old Folk Tales

& never-ever-ever-ever

eat your own toenails 

only other peoples'

that internet is evil

the Hun don't like it up 'em

& next door are in league with weasels.





Plus it's only witches

that get chickenpox 

twice

butterflies are too nice

always neat - no ice

& sometimes wolves

are sheep in disguise

never double-cross a morris dancer

- yes, she was wise

...

jam (at a glance)



Strawberry's for tourists 

& the yawningly boring,

Damson's handsome

& Plum makes us glum,

Greengage beckons seachange

& Chilli burns y' bum.





Raspberry?

Exactly

if it's a Bakewell Tart it has to be,

Rhubarb 

well that's an extra's script

& Blackcurrant's dark-Satanic-shit.





But delicious, sublime & great,

Apricot binds

a Battenberg Cake,

Traffic's too slow

to merit a mention

plus Toe's for scent & show

NOT human ingestion

...

sheep get everywhere

Flockin' Hellfire!

Them sheep get everywhere

beyond as far 

as my eyes can see,

so it's only a matter of time 

like

before they're our Shepherd & Master

- yes, the inevitable ovine

conspiracy.





From cold Arctic wastelands

to peng

desert islands

be it Dalesbred, Gritstone

 or Ryeland

- say y' prayers,

aye even the monster under the bed 

is running chicken-scared

as last time I looked

there was actually nothing there

so I check for sheep instead now

'cause sheep get

 EVERYWHERE

(!)

...

grab a pew…



Mildly unamused Libran Tree Surgeons,

frenetic Phrenologists,

diabetic Numerologists.





Liquid Petroleum Gasp enthusiasts,

Mesolithic Mendicants,

all Entities great & sentinent.





Including

secret-mitten-knitters,

Visigoth staticians

plus the Venerable Lamashtu

- grab a pew

...

hobbyist apocalypse

 

  • The Campanologists decided
  • to end with a clang

defy the essence of time

in chimey unison rang.





The Philatelists pored & ogled through

their Stanley Gibbons books

whilst licking the front of their favourites

& shedding tears - with final goodbye looks.





The Ikebanists they seemed to

at last lose their powers

so now devoid of their Dark-Witchcraft

unarranged lovely flowers.





Plus the poet-lot simply wrote on

as all shit crumbled & evil winds blew

oceans drowned & mountain ranges tumbled

but their stray words dreamed

of dawns anew

...