July 28, 2019 at 6:48 am (Poems) (, )

Seventies sounds slide from
wet speakers under tarpaulin,
revealing our average age.
Whilst pretty youth hangs out,
brushed ordinary by inclemency,

LED fairies wrap happily
around huge balloons,
wafting in idle dance,
and gauze obscures a newborn
suckling, haunted by a nipple.

As adversely politiced pairs
set the drunk planet keeling,
I’ll take my leave, followed by
more grizzled absconders,
yearning decaf with our cake.

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Garden Party

June 25, 2013 at 10:52 pm (humour, literature, Poems, poetry, Shropshire, Stories) (, , , )

Today, midweek, I is garden chillin’,
no pesky mean metal mamas mowing,
they is the weekend boys.
Nope, jus’ I and the big blue sky
and hey what even?
That old girl Sun is open for shine.

Then what do happen? Dang.
Those flaunty sparrows tip the Tit and Jay
I got seeeed!
Moly, that the end of peace fo today.
They get so close me is movin’ up!
In I’s own gardin! Serious.

But this not the main deal yet –

Well bless I’s odd socks
if the entire ‘nature thing’ begin
make the biggest darn racket ever:
they bees bumblin’, they crows cawin’,
old man Slug chewing on me lupin…
I’s gardin so loud the world is rockin’!

Well, think on it. Be churlish to vamoose.
This some kind of party, maybe?
Nature doin’ what Nature do pretty best.


Me is coming out, creepy sneakin’
from under I’s pot. Segments wavin’,
fourteen hip dancin’ legs groovin’ at a time.
Get with Nature’s freaky beat,
Coz, man, we is the party, bro –
we is the real deal.

Tellin’ you. Come on down I’s gardin bro,
Givin’ it some WOODLOUSE WELLY!

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