Although its near Spring
The Sun never stops at Stockport
Likewise there are 1000s of wanna be singers
who never made it, Fancy Dancer
Courtland Picket was one such
The daffodils on my table
are blooming
They have a pungent smell
Its bad enough I still have a cough
and catarrh
Trying to sell my house in Sidcup
but to no avail
It matters much who is in control:
In a venture he is the petrol;
To others hands what is relevant
And fishes out those who gallivant;
Workers warn to be not sycophant
For treats the size of an Elephant...
It matters a lot who does control:
Early his catarrh checks with menthol,
So that it staggers not his petrol
Or him reduce to thing to console...
Someone in control like Football Coach
On one's shoulders burdens of approach:
The fellow to new grave topic broach
And bad workers pair up with cockroach.
On a pedestal who's in control,
One's eyes closed to sharing of dettol
Over the squabbles merely quibble
Or a barraging voice make feeble.
Clements’ Mazda fully in control
Just crazily ran out of petrol,
His Humble Catarrh out of control
With obvious depletion of Menthol;
Not a thing solved by mere vitriol
Or plunging into angry patrol…
A hateful running out of supplies,
Both car and organ needing replies:
To surfacing at a bank complies;
A use of its ATN implies…
Next, straight dash to a filling station,
Never trying to Mammon ration:
At the nearest waiting pharmacy,
Thousands simply spending, no mercy:
For The Stranded after 10:00pm
Dreams not at all of eluding them…
Mazda Owner Turns Mazda Loser,
Snatcher with Family now User!
It counts a lot who is in Control:
In a venture he is The Petrol;
To tell The others The Relevant,
Fish out those who choose to gallivant,
Workers warn to be not Sycophant:
Those chasing the size of Elephant!
It matters a lot who does control:
Early fights his Catarrh with Menthol,
So that it staggers not his patrol
Or him reduce to one we console!
The one in control like Football Coach;
To be The one you mostly approach:
The Fellow to new topics broach
Upon his Province not dare encroach
The one to The ‘Bad Guy’ call Cockroach!
On A Pedestal who’s in control:
Then, eyes closed to sharing of Dettol
Over The Squabbles merely quibble
Or one’s barraging voice make feeble …
Who has found himself in control
Has for himself found painful Vitriol.
just take off a layer
or walk around
topless
i am the archpriest
eating sugar puffs
i am the prelate
eating bagels
i am halfway
in
and halfway
out the window
the mother-in-law wants it off
i am not for sale
my successors are labouring
like hercules
the hidrosis is formulaic
like glib one-liners
"it's bad for the bones and
you'll catch a cold"
bring on the catarrh
the indisposition
the bogeys
the runny front bonnet
and collectivist honk
the towel over the bowl
of hot adam's ale
seduce my soul my doxy
my concubine
a night emission
i make love to the air conditioner
Meanest Bouncer of visiting oxygen
Like a scarf of coarsest jean,
Ever keeping it and the nostrils at arm’s length,
Displaying its suffocating strength.
Oxygen keeps loitering at the fringes of the nasal chambers,
For as long as Septembers are from Decembers:
Kind of dreading an entry into them,
To the sufferer causing a paradise of problem.
Catchers, like a cross, hold their inhalers:
A pathological fear of everything parading propellers;
Tasty meals are robbed of their appeal,
Stylish dishes of chefs not a Big Deal.
Justifies the banging of doors against cold
And auctioning of freezers, not to be cold:
A pointed sealing of windows seldom shuttered
And shutting of the ears to sopranos shattered.
There was an orange tanned douchebag called Trump
Playing hero on a bicycle pump
When inflating his Ego
Before sorting the Lego
The great wall crushed with a flatulent thump
London BoJo called Muslims a post box
Surely they spread contagion and small pox
We must rule the waves
Or else we'll be slaves
In isolation stranded on dry docks
Blame it on Putin and that Xi Jingpin
Produce a fake red yellow catarrh spin
Those bastards won't mind
Just one of a kind
Virus Vodka in a chop suey tin
Mexicans count their left over last grace
With Europe a mere historical phase
China meets Russia
As fake news' crusher
Xenophobes leave their vile virulent taste
Poets scribe of idiots in power
Just ink on sheets no Ivory Tower
Peace from a kind pen
Once more and again
United in truth and scripted power
05th April 2020
MY LADY MY DAY
My lady my day
My sun mould from my ribs’ clay
Accelerate, but not so fast
Lest prophecy turns against forecast
The sun with the sky turns blue
I vow to see you brighter than the moon.
My lady dressed in erected forehead
Another pen writes your care ahead
A miss, a care, a gist and a kiss
Your cup, my heart and into a bowl we mix
From a pleasure to the slightest catarrh
We have really traveled far.
My lady with a dancing shoe
That’s the best you can ever do
Making me fall in your heart beneath
Prayed not but hey we connect
That sweet aroma you call smell
Is a new poem I wish to tell.
My lady my day
My lady is my day.
(wrote this poem for all out there who are missing their girlfriends like I was missing mine)