Chuntering
“Soribut I think you’ll find
you’re wrong in this case …”
Calmmurderer, I’d like to grind
your face between two graniblox.
You’ll drive me into sugarue.
I’ll grundle till tenforteasque.
Chuntering
“Soribut I think you’ll find
you’re wrong in this case …”
Calmmurderer, I’d like to grind
your face between two graniblox.
You’ll drive me into sugarue.
I’ll grundle till tenforteasque.
West Kirby baths circa 1960
Five in a line
in swimming trunks
in the sun.
Dad in the lead,
proud of his boys,
still the tallest (just).
We four following
in order of decreasing
age and height.
Trotting to the water’s edge,
onto the springboard in turn,
poynngg! into the air.
First three gone under,
but two of us still
airborne: phoowee!
Another in my operation sequence. This poem describes the admission process.
Admission
Report to the Admissions Suite.
Ignore the time on the letter,
come at three o’ clock,
then you won’t have to wait long
for a bed.
Admissions Suite sounds too much like
Departure Lounge. A holiday. Sunshine.
You came with me, worried sick,
wanting a last kiss, a wave goodbye…
Then I was alone.
Four of us in the ward. Three
already processed, showing off
their zipper chests. Coughing.
Jokey. Don’t worry you’ll be fine.
Take the sedative.
The nurse gave me four bottles
of energy drink. Two for now,
two in the morning. The anaesthetist
came by, weighed me up.
Then the pill and sleep.
Because of its layout I’ve tried inserting ‘Memflesh’ as a pdf file… here goes…
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‘Twas Brexit, and the Tory gnomes
Did gambol in the eventime:
All greedsy in their second homes,
Povation made a crime.
‘Beware the Cameron’, they said
‘the Osborne’s stare, the Gore that stings.
Beware the blondel Chubchub bird
When pompily he sings.’
She took her stilstud shoe in hand
Long time the fuhrerpost in sight
Then flaunced her maggie through the land
Proclaiming day was night.
One, two! One, two! And through and through
She tried to kilter Corbyn’s beard
But nothing could remove it, though
Its policies – to some – were weird.
‘Theresa, has thou slain the J?’
The sycolytes demanded then
‘And when will Europe disappear?’
No answer came there from Big Ben.
‘Twas Brexit, and the Tory gnomes
Did gambol in the eventime:
All greedsy in their second homes,
Povation still a crime.
Oh bludder the blapping
broadband’s on the blonk again.
Brillig: The word ‘chortle’ dropped into the English language in 1871 with Lewis Carroll’s ‘Jabberwocky’. It’s probably a mix of ‘chuckle’ and ‘snort’. Write a poem (on any subject) that includes some invented words of your own.
Martin Zarrop