Sammy the Suicidal Slug
Oh to be a gastropod and walk upon my belly
I'd slither like a slimy sod and hide in someone's welly
Knowing you won't look too hard,
for fear the smell may hurt your nose.
You'll wish you had been on your guard
when my guts sssquishhh between your toes…..
The heat haze rose from a tarmac lake
on a strange October's eve.
An Indian Summer's sun would bake
and dry each newly fallen leave.
The mornings still brought damp and dew
and mist to hide the Hills of Mourn
Libido's lamp flares up and through
till next June when your last is born.
When Young, He Sprung On Cloven Hooves
When young, he sprung on cloven hooves
scaling crags and cliffs with ease
ricocheted down waterfalls
with ne'er a slip nor slide.
Ascending or descending
like a puppet, safely strung,
no risk, no fear, no worries
when the challenge meets the young.
And now he feels the ladder shake
when barely past, the second rung.
Down at the bottom of Crinkly Wood
there lives the Gristle-Biter
who visits children who do no good
and leaves them so much lighter.
The Gristle-Biter likes to feed
on cartilage, (though tough) .
No flesh nor fish nor bone, indeed
they're not his favourite stuff.
So when you wake without your ears
or missing half your nose.
I'd mend your ways and dry those tears
or next time..lower down he goes!
Can I Say Farewell. Lyrically, To A Hero From My Childhood and Beyond?
Good Lord, who took his child in time,
in time to shatter this black night.
The deepest purple's so sublime
and silhouettes the fireball's light,
which shines upon this living wreck.
This bloodsucker within the rocks
so tempting us to wring that neck
and search within this empty box,
for Demon's Eyes and Mandrake Root
the Speed King's men have shown,
he might just take your life, to boot
and so the founding bird has flown.
Malice through the Looking Glass
They've left a candle smoking
neath the mirror's icy gaze
Freshly doused, invoking
spirits from the darker days.
They leave no smell, they leave no sound.
A soul-less souvenir.
Reflections of an empty room,
a face seems to appear.
A distant dirge is playing
weaving harmonies from hell
The ambience decaying
as piano morphs to bell.
The wick that smokes and smoulders
Sends its incense past the glass
The fingers on my shoulders say
my time has come to pass…
is quickly running
down, and has not far
to go. I feel the sand in every
frown that drags my will down low.
The silicon, conniving grit that rubs
on every pore. Abrasive and
invasive, See? It evens
up the score.
The score of
years and also fears.
As layer upon layer peels the
pity from my tears. The culling and
the dulling of my empathy corrodes,
the final days, approaching, soon
no more to tread these roads.
The Glass is running quickly
down, I have no will to
turn it round.
[...] Read more
Can I offer a version of the world's (supposedly) funniest joke?
Whilst working on the switchboard once
for the emergency services team,
I came across a fatal dunce
who haunts my every dream.
his call came through at half past two
an over-excited punter
'Help me please, what should I do?
I've found the body of a hunter!
His skin is cold and clammy
he's bleeding from the gut,
If he's not dead, I'm barmy! '
So I stopped him and said, 'But...
could you just make sure that he's dead? '
the phone dropped, I was vexed
A shot rang out and then he said,
'Ok. He's dead. What next? '
When time and tide have been denied
the chance to dance and regain pride
from lips that have so often lied,
I'll wait, I'll watch, I'll grieve.
When every story has been told
When all the warm bloods then run cold
When fractures festoon every mould
I still may not believe.
A frozen wish within my core
locked in the puss for evermore
a crusted scab around a sore
your final spell you weave.
How low can love belay this heart
a prisoner of a worthless art
Would I had known this from the start
I may have still been so naive?
What is a poem?
A poem comes in many guises.
A good one almost hynotizes,
drags a reader to the end
as if they'd found a long lost friend
Wakes in them, familiar feelings
makes them smile or leaves them reeling.
Says so much in so few words
or sometimes says so little
It glorifies exotic birds
or simple cuckoo spittle.
A poem has a humane hook
that leads us to a notion.
A cellar door through which we look
and share the poets true emotion.
A poem has a tale to tell
beginning, middle and ending,
and if it doesn't rhyme...oh well
[...] Read more