Wow! I saw it there
Next to the road side
On top of some junk
Some flytipper had flyed
I screeched to a stop
On a dangerous bend
Crying 'I saw it first!'
At my passenger friend
Only slightly bitter
She stomped from the Rav
And claimed the prize
I was desperate to have
A three legged table
Was shoved in the door
Not meant for three legs....
Twas s'posed to have four
She laughed like a drain
As I was cut down to size
Left feeling deflated
At my rubbishy prize
I am beginning to reckon
That to Miss Tracy I beckon
I permit to my image ruin
With the strength of the rains of June;
In the end self-esteem erode
And parts of my flesh corrode
And Miss Tracy lavishly goad
To balance on my shoulders load
I should see its rubbishy content
To delay not a vile intent…
I’m now some cycle Tracy rode,
For which like river she had flowed;
Thunderous laughter did explode.
We were at the story-changing funeral
Of the Genocide-implicated General:
A drunk and mourners were all served mineral!
In the paid tributes linked with the ethereal,
Though his life had stressed pleasures ephemeral:
An ever-pitied sufferer of the venereal,
As a dying corporal
Surviving on referral
“Then, this is his repentance in grave
Or restrictions of mourners like a slave!”
“Please, if there isn’t any safe alcohol,
Ready I am for harsh ethanol…
In this rubbishy funeral of an accursed general
To drink not many but several.
In bottles corked by a nursing mother
Against thirst that would her baby bother;
In large drums hoarded by ablution-enthused Muslim
Who stories of its scarcity take with eyes unusually dim.
A dry cleaner’s spiteful curse of a dry tap
That wouldn’t help his trade, a hurting slap!
The keyed-up state of a seeker of a mouthful of it,
An insight into the whiplashes of not conserving a bit,
As much so, the helplessness of a camel driver
Belatedly aware of no oasis ahead nor the look-alike of a river.
Water is the double assurance of life in a world unlived,
To this end, a phenomenon that should be believed
While it continues with a dignified silence
Against foes teaching Rubbishy Science.
Water is never by, parched throats disdained
Rather ‘Archbishop’ by Adam’s Apple ordained;
Always usefully engaged here
And productively canalized there...
But watch it, in a big one, you go down
And you are sure to drown!
Poetry widow.
I was looking around rummaging,
then I found some poison in a draw,
thought that could be damaging,
wonder what she'd want that for?
suddenly noticed something weird,
a rope with a noose, hanging from the ceiling,
I expect Just a joke,nothing to be feared,
except a book how to kill without feeling,
can't understand, knives Under the mattress,
don't know why she's upset and always cries,
she knows all about my literary mistress,
hope she's not planning my demise,
because with my other love I like to be solitary
having fun reading amazing poetry.
Just to let you know I've poisoned his tea,
Can't stand anymore of his rubbishy poetry,
so through his heart I stuck a knife,
Yes you guessed it, I'm his wife,
He is now hanging by a rope from the ceiling,
for him I have no more use lost all feeling,
now he can be on his own I am free,
no more being alone while he reads poetry.
I think I've done you all a favour in this deed,
you won't have any more of his rubbish to read,
now I'm off to prison a life in solitary,
Just because of that bloody poetry.
03/04/2017.
Unshackle my verse
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