Morning, blowy,
took a crap, dog came down,
took a crap, had a nap.
That was that.
Seconds out.
Up again, honour bound,
only sound wind
blowing round,
that was earlier
when I was churlier.
better now,
curlier, burlier,
furrier, purrier…
Browse
pock marked pocket penguin
pictures
Traipse
Pendine’s Sands mortal,
Golden arrowhawks
.
Hold the knife that kissed Lucretia
one pearl morning in the garden
Taste
opal raindrops
on the counterpane.
When
the cap fits
Go and wear it well.
Paling to significance,
Brad the Impaler, a pied butcher bird,
whistles a chirpy tune
(Imagine, if you will,
a melodic baritone
bicycle here)
and skewers a shrew for the barbie.
Life read and heard in tooth and claw,
one sighs through clenched teeth.
‘This is all the weather you get,
so you’d best enjoy it…Grrghh!’
says a balaclavad scimitar weatherman.
I will, I will!
Promise I will, croons Brad.
Splurge urge, soggy gourd
Mulch and pulp, squash
Tomato, windy beans shrivel,
Drenched, trembling, gusts
Thus love came stealing
In sable, lunar night.
Grimbeau 