he was known
as man bag man
as he was
a man
and he had
a bag
inside which
was
a man
carrying a man
was his bag
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Month: July 2014
Knock Knock
– Knock knock
– Who’s there?
– A poem.
– A poem? Where?
– Here. Standing on your doormat.
– I thought you were a joke format.
– Well, please can I come inside?
– No. Get lost. Access denied.
the crocs of the matter
the one
crime worse
than wearing crocs
is wearing crocs
with socks
poke
“You just have to pokemon,” you said
in response to a question about the best way
to get Pikachu onto a bus.
The following week I saw him,
waiting patiently as the number twenty-six
pulled up alongside the bus shelter.
Paying heed to your words I began to poke him,
gently at first, like the unsure fumblings of an
awkward teenager worried about the crossing of the line.
Stoic indifference ensued. My poking became more
insistent, the testy tapping of a typewriter replying to
an overdue payment claim for a bill long since settled.
It was only when I began prodding his stripy behind
with my pipe that he turned and addressed me,
a Pokemon fire burning in his eyes, saying:
“I am actually waiting for the number four.
What need do I have to go to Watford?”
Tony
Of all my mates,
Tony was the pick of ’em.
He knew loads
About Tanita Tikaram.
Like that she was
From Basingstoke.
Tony. Amazing bloke.
With or Without U2
I
A Reflection Upon The Feeling Evoked Upon Seeing The Lead Singer From U2 Walking Down A Street With No Name Towards You
Bono!
Oh no!
II
A Response To The Panic Induced Upon Seeing The Guitarist From U2 Walking Down A Street With No Name Towards You
The Edge!
Quick! Into the hedge!
III
A Reaction To The Fear Engendered Upon Seeing The Bass Player From U2 Walking Down A Street With No Name Towards You
Adam Clayton!
Taxi! Station!
IV
A Meditation On Seeing The Drummer From U2 Walking Down A Street With No Name Towards You
U2 Drummer!
Bummer.
“How long is a piece of Sting?” she said
“How long is a piece of Sting?” she said,
So dutifully I picked up
The hacksaw
Once more
And patiently worked
My way through
Another section of his arm
Before measuring it.
This time, it was nine
Point four inches.
I added the results to the chart in red felt-tip pen.
Orange Is Not The Only Rhyme
As I climbed to the top
Of The Blorenge,
And looked down
On the town
Of Abergavenny,
I remember you said
Not to use “orange”
In a rhyme
As I’d find
There weren’t any.
I carried on
Sucking my
Lozenge.
Blorenge
POEM FOR BRAZIL
Neymar
Do your hopes live on.
Like Julio Cesar,
You came,
But did not soar
Or conquer.
I offer
Maicon dolences.
