stit shicks

 



patrick webber

made it up in the bath

then later told alexander handstand

for a laugh


now alexander handstand

is a gullible soul

which aint in any dictionary

yes on the bollocks rolled


so alexander handstand

nattered with that denise quiche

who contacted the tabloid press

then in due course - police


thence the tabloid press went shit-ape

oh those vultures often do

as we're all innocent

until guilty or near enough

but everyone knew thus it must be true

...





(the end)






 

my tiger tin

dear my dear tiger tin

in which i keep stuff 'n' things

you were £1 in poundland

you were bought on a whim


since then through thick & thin

from front rooms to festivals

i cant be without you

essential as testicles


yes without you one's lost

like grime without wiley

or countdown

sans perving at rachel riley



oh my dear tiger tin

in which i keep shit 'n' things

i fucking love you

oddly my heart sings

x

...







 

plods

 

let's plod these meadows

leagues & yards

the sunshine turns

 the sheep shit hard

them hedgerows sing

of bits of spring

charybdis

an opening

the buttercups

are yellowing

the bluebells ring

the nettles sting

so let's roam this shat

for bastard miles

plus once upon a nackered stile

i found a wallet

with loads of cash in it

so i kept it

...











( ... author nodes ... sometimes poems ... just end ...

the don't end-end, they just end, sorry about that ... )