Smart,
smug Smart Alec sat,
soiled by ibex ordure,
popping vindicates
at established fates.
Marquis de Plonqueur
Mozart Violet echoes
conch in Sea.
All is stop.
No ghosts,
(One did look!)
The door!
Is that a dog?
Would it, could it be?
Back from killing conies,
flushing out fat farm rats,
haring up hills,
racing gannets on the strand.
Yes, don’t be silly,
it was here,
it was her.
Fresh as the icy, blue zephyr,
that bid me: ‘How are Ye?’
Carbuncles, moles, tumescensces,
spots, scar tissue, warts, blackheads, scabs,
bubos, boils, and bruises…the rest is blistery.
Some people work
for a living.
I write…
Sometomes.
Subscribe: Free Calendar! A year in Sing-Sing.
Habeas corpus or what? Amnesty.
Ethical gift to salve the conscious conscience.
Place on cardboard coffee table to catch
the eyes of passers-by, nod frownfully
in silent solace, go wild ape and shout:
‘Owzat!’
Then, from red animate to grey plausible go
do your best sepulchral Arlott:
‘Calendar caught Eye bowled Jaffa.’
Seven brothers owned
seven separate farms:
while related,
they found themselves in quite
different fields
A tory most crass, loud, and pompous
Created a row and a rumpus
After saying the needy
Were lazy and greedy
They ate him with oodles of humus
There was a bulimic called Shirley,
Who lived in a folly in Purley,
Crept down late one night
Without a hall light
And got mugged by
a large Curly Wurly
A meticulous poet is Motion
Looked deeply at cheap suntan lotion
He rubbed it all in
O’erlooking his chin
Now shaving is fraught with emotion
Had a jar with Dora Maar
thought
She’s not like how she’s painted
A two-faced bitch’s a trifle rich
Still,
Her reputation’s tainted
Waiting on pork sausage
We were forced to skelt
willy-nilly
for mute sanctuary from
tampons confounded take on fern hill.
Tea was derationed today in fifty two.
Five eggs variously
boiled Mohr’s scale by Nanny Charperson.
Is it safe?
Can we come out?
Chai or Cha, your High Chairness?
We emerge and return
Waiting for pork sausage
Green and dying in our chains
Ding-a-Ling.
Grimbeau 