today I found a poem
and placed it in a book
I hope it’s there tomorrow
I’ll be sure to take a look
It had a broken stanza
and had torn its second verse
which is why I rescued it
to prevent it getting worse
so hopefully by placing it
with others in my book
will mean one day it’ll rhyme again
with a little bit of luck
The Sally moustache notwithstanding
I doubt that was him in his grave
surreal or not
if I was visiting Gott
I think I would probably shave
steam dissolved away
and revealed his hairy chest
clad in gold chiffon
Just outside of Brunswick
I chanced upon a goat
who offered me two shillings
for a borrow of my coat
I gladly took his tenpence
for he looked quite forlorn
as only on that afternoon
his farmer had him shorn
once he had my jacket on
away with it he ran
up upon his backlegs
he looked just like a man
over hills I chased him
that cunning little ram
until at last I caught him
trying to mug a lamb
I asked him right there and then
what had sent him on the rob?
and he said to me quite put out
“but I paid a couple of bob”
with her I play no role
I left my script at home
no need for queue cards
nor method in my actions
no prompts
direction unnecessary
the stage is bare
but for her
and me……just me
she takes me like her violin
and I gasp out the notes
breathless scales
as her fingers dance
upon my tensioned senses
whisper in the dark
the name of your deepest fear
disturb not its sleep
a ghost lives inside me
haunting thoughts
and casting doubts
in the dark shadows
of my self consciousness
it is no wayward spectre
nor spirit lost in tumult
it is simply my future self
preparing me in all good time
for the inevitable
I have a liddle grotbag
to keep my drubbles in
until the time they fall apart
and end up in the bin
henceforth my grotbag’s empty
and contains no things of note
though if the weather warms up
I’ll use it for my coat
or maybe for my underhair
if the sun doth really shine
so it will serve its purpose
just like in olden thymes
If I were me
I’d bake a cake
and smother it in dreams
and then I’d make
a half blind snake
lick off all the cream
Around the edge
its tongue would wind
into each nook and hole
and when at last
the cake was clean
he’d lick the mixing bowl
the blighters rock 