mikey gave it to charlotte charlotte gave it to franz franz gave it to wilhelm wilhelm gave it to hans hans gave it to phyllis phyllis gave it to lisa lisa gave it to niamh niamh gave it to peter peter gave it to pablo pablo gave it to suki suki gave it to saladin saladin gave it to susie susie gave it to fergus who slightly dithered then after wondering whether to keep it gave it back to mikey again ...
Poetry
gnikoj ylno
a man walks into a poem 'sorry' says the man that's alright - i understand you were looking at those harpies then they kissed & shook hands ...
lost keys & micro-pygmies
i needed to go out - SHAT but where's that bastard key? after rummaging through pocket-land i moved onto the settee then i lifted up the cushion & there to my surprise underneath were a crikey previously unknown micro-pygmy tribe i queried an elder 'have you seen my key?' he lobbed the ickle-tiniest of spears at me which i almost felt - 'shit-aaah y' twat' so in retaliation i sneezed back (it's still missing) ...
sorry about the mindless carnage…
last night whilst the the tawny owls hooted the pipistrelles flapped & a monastery was looted in my dream a former life i was a viking then yes many monks died it was lindasfarne in 793 A.D or if you must, C.E upon awakening i still hear their agonized cries have i left it too late or should i apologise ? ...
where’s squalor?
yes god's still dead & the newspaper read ombudsman found living in squalor but that geography has been a mystery to me with actual mist so beyond bare bones i never really bothered yet where is squalor non-scholar - shit bother i can't tell you shite where to begin it's in the local rag so we must be talking miles is it near denial or 'round the back of sin ? ...
a modest collection of little secrets
this little secret was discovered in a shoebox wedged in a hedge in the nowhere of the middle this little secret it never really had a name yet knew too much & ran away i found it in an alleyway this little secret well this one takes the biscuit it was passed down from a great-aunt who i still don't know existed & this little secret was once a set of ten before the other nine revealed themselves it's not a secret then ...
pre-human
we used to stay out all night & hunt our own prey we used to chat to the bats that also shunned day we used to turn our feathered heads two 70 degrees yes when we were owls we could do as we pleased ...
there’s a vole in my pocket
there's a vole in my pocket the vole got in through the hole having scurried up my left trousered leg beneath green corduroy - rock 'n' roll yes there's a vole in my pocket it's jiggly it's fidgeting about so now i've resorted to cartwheels in the hope the little shit falls out ...
stuff to do
there are still many energies that remain untapped such as every dog tail wagging a mass-wag or the collective spin of every hamster in its wheel so leave mater earth alone & let's make these energies REAL ...
did you know… ?
on this day in 1743 a pheasant laid an egg beneath a walnut tree ...
resarf poetry 