Poem

entropy recipe

Lob aside your stabilisers

& untie your shoes

,

plus lock up your armbands

& form disorderly queues

.

Just miss the first post

& return late library books

,

smash several mirrors & why not? An eggcup

& then give photos of hard men – really funny looks

…

& now add the rest of the ingredients

…

Poem 338

Well a surfeit of lampshades

is a touch too much in the way

of a visual aid

hence this temporary blindness

.

& intermittent stumbling

& mumbling about stuff & bits

,

& bumbling & then pretending

that it’s dark because we’re back in the blitz

…

But with added banana skins

…

say it with flowers

Say it with flowers

,

say it with flowers

.

As it seems to take the edge

off bomb scares & death threats

,

& can buy valuable time

with nasty bad debts

(…Just the one leg…)

…

Say it with flowers

,

say it with flowers

.

They prettify all words

even murderer & scum

,

& phrases like fuck off

& rot in hell mum

…

So say it with flowers

,

go on

…

Afoot (dot dot dot)

Another blank sheet

on another back seat

,

this could be anarchy

potentially

.

Or sense possibly

& stroke (/) probably

,

a brush from the wings

of a passing dark thing

.

Thus signalling the beginning

 of a downward spiral

,

as this ink 

just might go viral

.

& then mutate

at a devastating pace

–

& well within a fortnight

wipe out the human race

.

.

.

But phew it’s my stop

,

so I ring the bell

‘

& thank the proverbial

,

we live for now

…

Dear Nature…

Dear Nature,

just a few words

about the birds

…

Cuckoos shouldn’t spit

in public,

let alone leave it

lying around on the ground

.

I think treecreepers should experiment

more with bushes,

& maybe learn to cook

& finally get ’round to writing that book

.

& why do owls

insist on asking

whose there all the time

?

I’ve never an owl

for a light or spare change

or is this pellet yours or mine

?

Other than the above,

I think you’re doing brilliantly

.

Yours sincerely, 

anonymous fan

….

r.e This Poem

This poem sniffs moss

& drinks from troughs,

& picks up feathers

& pisses by hedges

.

This poem chats to stoats

& thinks that gravel floats,

& loves well dressings & bell ringing

but never saw the point in fell running

.

This collects stamps

& yet stamps on ants

& steals cheese from pantries

& likes to up the ante

.

Because this poem is a mish mash

probably as a result of witchcraft,

or to be more precise- a pad & pen

but everyone uses them

.

We’ll burn it on the off-chance

…