Mum can we have chips for tea with ambrosia fish fingers - mushy peas then lemon meringue pies plus manna from the skies & get a fuckin' move on I'm hungry please? ...
Words
the gist of things
Twas a stormless night when the incident with the euphonium low cloud yet quitish bright triggered pandemonium. The chickens they ran amok as the church bells sang of the end of the of days the vicar was touched by a form of shock like headless poultry - mad cluckers all crazed. & then it almost rained frogs as the cries of terror-shit topped deafening plus miaows from confused dogs almost but definitely threatening. & so without further ado-ACHOO in the absence of thunder claps or any last requests bless you - yes I have the sniffles too hereby thence sentence you to death ...
blame the parenthesis
As the funeral for an onion who died tragically young sad-timely hymns sung. Then lacrimal laments bulbous allium torments wailing not whaling sad shit - intense. Or since applying more cream in the hope it may redeem but that definitely exceeds residual seeping - there shall be weeping ...
some stuff about the other bit
Snails race at great pace practically supersonic like an Otter on Berrocca or Billy Whizz but actually on it. Also rivers flow backwards Bats speak Flemish Bears shun all porridge Blackbirds sleep it's that half hour of the week & annoyingly some trees they fall in forests. Plus the Gnomes they compose Gnome-Poetry crude garden-based cantons & Magical stanzas when unseen - so free of man - no peeping & NO hidden cameras ...
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 ...
shattoodoo
Check inbox for latest emails from Barabus & Banardos, squeeze avocados then FREE TERRY WAITE. Translate Milton into Pingu knock knock who's there? Igloo Igloo who? Igloo let me in I'll tell you not this side of gist, this is the middle of a list ...
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 ...
all geese are nazis when they walk
All geese are Nazis when they walk - no silly talk it's POLITICS not twaddle. Even if it's just another goosey-gander-waddle; webbed feet left 1st then right they're terribly Third Reich ...
on a solstice eve
On a Solstice Eve the joint 2nd shortest day of the year when the silvery Sun soon does 1 - disappears especially when partially marred by cloud. A song swanned into my ears a proper old classic no glib festive cheer pre-dating mortal-Jesus with his bastardized ideas so sing it loud & proud now Winter is here ...
most fun is harmless
Whether lost without purpose as a porpoise in a shampoo advert, or moochin' on the horizons of the enlightened & aspiring brigands views. Be it wassailing in the valley with a poem whilst Summer deep-dreams sleep-stirless, or just talking to a bucket - fuck it something to do ...
resarf poetry 