Martian Poem

Martian Poem

Pping ookOO AraEEdle!!
EEdEEdle EEt EEooFi OOk
Ppings OuBooDooF TEE eeNooTH
OOls EEoRee AllOO Um WAh Wappsli
Urbli E,E,E,F megoHILOh iCROheGoh
eggers Ohmme MeGOH ERo-Resi IcroH OO

Hi Ho Silver Sponge

Hi Ho Silver Sponge

You look new every time. It's a pre-metric ratio
We had last Christmas, out of the big hoodoo
Mole smooth coat, banana bright mush
That gob rimmed eye like a tiny duckling
All for the spatter of cheese on a brush

Well, it's fluffed out, and well thumbed
Jabbing your tongs at old biscuit crumbs
While a piddock or two, so jelly like
They seem to drip extensive watery cress
On the handlebars of my bike

The Beautiful Vanity Of Slag

The Beautiful Vanity Of Slag

The beautiful vanity of slag
which with noxious flu

Behind them heart, liver and kidneys
and indeed the tiny nostrils

Who gather by the briquettes
with their tiny rubbery bananas

Loose and collapsed umbrella
unfolding over party squeakers

The spiders feet and fingers
in the flared trousers

Also the frothy blob of custard
the sausages, with thin trails

Of dwarfs behind them and ofcourse
the overhead nuts and the descending

Broken tooth and brown like noodles
hair and the wooden lavatory seats

White elephant picnicking by the plughole
and the black metal balls and the nose

Which blows rustling the budgie
rustling the cheese roll as it goes by

Privy Council

Privy Council

We are all gathered here today
To play some musical notes
On the big smiling instrument
Made from old ships buoys
Hand crafted in the sheds
Of old fisherfolk from driftwood
Casks and barrels
Bits of flotsam and jetsam
With the buzzing of insects
The chirping of birds
And the flush of the cistern

Thing Spring

Thing Spring

little to thing to periwinkle
spring, to spring, a thing
spring, spring, a tears. fiddler
spring, fiddler for fiddler periwinkle
wing, for periwinkle on wing,
little a years, fiddler fiddler

(Poem put through the Dadaist Poetry generator - twice.)

Squid and Pygmies

Squid and Pygmies

The manuring be lookin' nice,
The crack be in bloom,
Across vast l'aves grey backed trays
I've yur'd the vermin tune.

The rumbles be a pullin' out
The broccoli cut and nate
And father's plums be master strong
'En he's fungicides a trate

Us sausages in the house at all
For mother's on spring whistling
His bate feels like a rubber ball
Or whiten up a thistling

'En I've a faylin' like a giant rhubarb
To kick me logbarry art
Piled high with me warm pustules
In a dung encrusted cart.