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sponsorless by gbgwdmonxjshfcsdywbehnmmmn
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this poem isn't sponsored by taylor's yorkshire tea, cadbury dairy milk or babybel cheese, silver swan slims or scrumpy jack cider, w.i calendars, the hadron collider & this poem isn't sponsored by petplace poop scoops, reebok trainers, kellog's honey loops, glenmorangie, any pens or mr kipling's cakes but if you're out there & you're reading this i'm ready to negotiate ( x ) ...
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as it's not pancake day nah - not today no shrovetide / nosedive no lent on its way i'll dawdle the edgelands i'll survey their span with a compass & ruler but i'll need not my pan ...
( please click on this poem to read it as it should be i type in preformatted on here which used to come down as one albeit to the left but now, whatever stream your on it just shows the first bit bunched in another typeface come on wordpress you fuckin' shitehawks why the chuffin' shat-munt change or is it me? ) ~ our world of rhyme where lines they chime from morn's dawn yawn to rhyme's bedtime yet then we sleep then dream of sheep joyriding jeeps watch out - beep beep day & night long it's one big song or chanson i blame trad & anon so tra la la la la la lee fiddley diddley diddley dee ( nice 1 ) ...
mona awoke from her coma ten years after wearing the wrong type of hat martin spoke to a martian as denise ate quiche & samuel smelled a rat hywel howled at wildfowl & amy spontaneously burst into flames yes every wednesday's different overlaps? plenty but never quite the same ...
"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" ...
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 ( ! ) ...
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 ) ...
eeh the cauliflower people well the florety folk yes they're definitely real no it's sadly not a joke 'cause fairly bland vegetable plus some science when it's evil plus the darkest of dark magic = cauliflower people don't talk to them ...
a wise man once said save the hodgepodge cerebral sheep graze bless the bodge job save the hedgehog lend us a fiver black holes are mysteries scrumpy my cider reality's oblong bring back echoes forget the bloody fire oh blow the bellows summer can do soup too bollocks in motion i hereby declare this fucking poem open ...
in the absence of my poltergeist who used to keep me up with fright quite terrified since gone all shy i gave it a go haunt d.i.y so banged a wall then smashed a plate then had a nap a good 'un - great it's not the same i miss you now sweet poltergeist dear ghostly thou ... ( author nodes; this poem is also dedicated to yvette fielding ... )
resarf poetry 