Who the fuck is that knocking on my door?
It’s Sunday morning.
I am in bed.
My head hurts.
And now this fool has pressed the door bell,
releasing a bright and happy fairground tune inside.
I listen.
I am still.
Gone away, yet?
Tag Archives: poem
Why I’m Searching
I’ve been searching
Through a black and pink coloured cave
Trying to see my way ahead
Trying hard to be brave
But now I’ve reached some
Big old dusty dead end
and I realised way too late
Just how to be good friends
Should Men be Forced to Shave Their Legs?
The first man to shave his legs out of habit,
Sits before me in a deckchair on the seafront promenade,
Lifting at the hem of his sky-blue linen trousers,
Aiming an unnecessarily surreptitious wink my way.
Old now, greyed and wrinkled, the stare of a rabbit,
He explains how this came to be.
“It was all a misunderstanding, see,
Entirely on my part, naturally.
For when ‘the shortages’ kicked-in and trousers went to shorts,
I’d thought,
We must all now shave our legs,
Same as the wimmin do.”
Spark of Light
I tell you details about my life
I tell you things
I’ve not told anyone else before
not told to anyone
I don’t know if you know this to be true
When I look at you
When I’m telling you
When Life Plays Out Like a Roy Andersson Film
Folding clean clothes
in a front-facing bedroom, now spare
through the window listless I stare
Until I spy
riding high
upon a small bicycle
This pink-faced giant of a white-haired old man
stopped with his pedalling
a’coasting and a’buzzing
Leaning into a sharp loop
he pulls up outside the tavern
attempts a quick and clean dismount
Nay! Something’s amiss!
Something goes wrong
he’s caught up in the waver of a mid-air kiss
Pink Cardigan Man
The man in the pink cardigan
knew his mission in life was to run
But his knobbly knees
and excessive liking for cheese
meant he sweat’d way too much in the sun
Another, Banana
“A banana requires no knife
to split open.”
I said to my wife
But the look cast
within her eyes
brought forth an uneasy surprise
“What did you give up for lent?”
I asked, in an attempt
to thwart ill intent
The Ugly Fuckling
I asked, “Exactly, how did my penis become
so utterly ugly,
gnarled, knobbly,
and a lot less fun?”
“With age.”
Said the wise old, medicine woman sage,
pointing and waving her shillelagh
between my crossed legs
sat in front of her
Tina Says I’m Pretty!
All my days self-conscious
by this out-sized head
to duck unkind attention
I’d dye my hair red
Cat and Bat Synergy
A cat
Would never wear a hat,
As a bat
Chooses not to initiate chat.
Brinkinfield 