Instead of polishing Polish paunches,
Complain about Irksome polyester cauliflowers,
(If one should arrive
Unsolicited
On your threshold)
To anyone who will listen.
Complete a Dungaree degree.
Fold envelopes merrily
Into quarters
And then slowly unfold them.
Watch a vexatious beaver
Endure a slight fever.
Track changes to pea policy
(Highlight all words beginning with p
In green).
Eat soup through an elaborate straw
While staring at a green door
You have seen before.
Adore
Your reprobate budgerigar and warm it
Gently by the smoking embers of the fire
In winter
And autumn
(Weather permitting).
Avoid arctic knitting
At all costs
(That way madness lies).
Wear sieves on all three feet
And beat a syncopative rhythm
As you walk.
Don’t talk
Overly much about prolific beards
And such.
It is not necessary
To read anything by Milton
And by extension
Milton Keynes
Is best avoided on
Alternate Tuesdays in spring.
Purée, unhinged, every day,
And say haberdashery
And pinnacle
In the same sentence
As often as you
Can get away with
Without raising an
Eyebrow.
Never wonder how
You came to this,
But sieve away the day
(sieve soberly, not overly)
And play dominos
With passing Mormon Norman doormen
(assure them of your
Honourable intentions)
And give the dimensions of your
Greenhouse when asked brusquely for
Your date of birth or
Shoe size.
Above all, remember
The walrus rarely lies,
Unless usurped,
And is therefore a better source
Of advice than
The throw of a dice,
Or idling your days away talking to mice.
Lawrence Agrippa, a mole, is lured to his death by Poodle Rocking being played on a banjo.
A sinister mole called Lawrence Agrippa
Was rather partial to a pea and spam fritter.
He would munch all alone in his underground hole,
A contemplative greedy soul,
Whose heart was lead.
His greatest dread
Was hungry rumblings or throbbing head,
Until he heard a distant twangling
That set his heart and heckles jangling;
Banjos playing sounds so sweet
They swept him off his little feet
And sent him rocking, poodle-like,
Towards the sounds and poky spikes
And speared him. Skewered once for all
(he hardly felt a thing at all)
And then poor Lawrence Neil Agrippa
Was made into a pair of slippers.
Diazepam jam is good with spam
Diazepam jam is good with spam,
Ritalin, peas and marzipan.
A fistful of citalopram
Is bracing, with some eggs and ham.
Sudden loss of vision fritters,
HALLUCINOGENIC critter jitters.
A pick me up,
CAN’T PUT ME DOWN
You’d better believe it seizure
(……Amnesia….)
Blackout shout-out CONTINUATION OF DOUBT,
Zoplicone stuffed whole baked trout
With almonds, flaked and
Flakier
THE SHAKES and crazier glazier
Told me once to murmur
About the Berber
Hat.
(I may be growing fat)
And far away the jars are calling,
Peas are still and ladles falling
PALPITATIONS
Beat a morse code warning
THE MOLES CAN HEAR THE BANJO(E)S DAWNING.
Special needs
Labyrinthine places interlacing,
Serpentine rules of social placing,
Entwining, divining. Fault-finding.
Tubular footfall hollow and shrill,
Rules and regulation behaviour modification drill.
Twisty, misty Podular slopes.
Modular confusion.
Artificial brighting,
No fighting.
Yellow, blue and red hues only,
Windows in and no way out,
Never ending
Mind bending
Consciousness modulated
Socialisation complemented
With physical prowess for its own sake.
Discard down the chute the lonely or the insane,
Or those who washed your targets down the drain.
Let the thoughtless clamber, limber, over their sedated bones below,
Rattling their own rhythms (fools)
As they contemplate the weight of disapproval
Crushing them to a more palatable flavour,
Like coffee beans crushed, mushed and discarded.
Their thoughts have parted company with the course of history,
Determined by brusque and muscular brains who never pause for thought,
Save to congratulate themselves.
And so, doughnut, time plods on blissful and unaware without you,
Mongrel retard and remedial reject that you are.
Just coz you can see the stars
And hear their cold disapproving paternal laughter too
Does not make you
One of us.
The cheering properties of pea lollipops
Grr and arrggh and weee
And boo
And Pfft and oft
And doop dee doo
And boing and hop
And dashing mop
Harrump and hmmmm
And lollipop
Of peas, delicious
Melting mmmmm
Delight and sight
And yum and brrrrrr.
Inside my mind a sinister wellington boot
Inside my mind a path was clear,
And shiny spaced
from
Here
to
Here
but
water rushes, gushes in
through ears
and drowns the thoughts
and freezes warmth and sloshes.
Galoshes.
Clumsy great drops
Split splatter
And splodge their way.
Mindlessly squelching muddy wellybootprints
STOMP
across the paths that I lay down stone by stone
and gouged in places pale and cold
Obliterating patterns and direction
With mindless welly purpose
That knows me not.
Greening, cleaning, antifreezing
Misbelieving that what was here before was.
The peas are tossed away and churned and frothed,
They feel no wrath,
They turtle- hurtle on,
Lurching back to what was before but expecting nothing
Round and round
Their voices drowned,
Their juice runs clear
WE WERE NEVER HERE
The welly squelches glibly glee,
And oozes mud all over me.
The cave peas
The space peas could fizz through time and space,
They burst through the ages and left me in this place:
At the mouth of the cave in the pitch, black light
The cave peas slumbered out of sight,
out of mind and out of place
And their dream-shapes flickered and brushed my face,
A black-foot deer chasing cave walls and ceilings,
A tree man with a beard and a face full of feelings.
And the sweet-pea babies breathed deep and breathed calm,
And the darkness soothed their troubles and kept them from harm,
And the dark cave safety was so somnolent and warm.
A thousand miles away from the sky so black and chill,
and the vultures circling waiting for the kill,
And their minds woke slowly to the soothing light of dawn,
And then I realise, I have been here before.
Space peas vs pomegranates
The battle’s over before it’s begun,
A spark inside each head and the space peas have won.
The frazzled and rambling pomegranate minds
Roll their little bodies over,
compliant into their coffin so shiny and silver,
Where they writhe and crunch as
Red juice creeps out and away, painfully.
The lid glides shut silently and all is dark.
The space peas roll slowly on,
their conscience is a pile of ice cold ash,
their hearts shine, mercilessly.
Space peas v pomegranate
The Space Peas
I march my army down the hill,
Their feet move on, their hearts are still.
The taste of peas still in my mouth
Is rancid, still it quenched a drought
But chills, alack , seep down my spine
As there before us, in a line
Too perfect,
Too manic straight,
Too shiny yet to contemplate,
Their ship has landed
They are stranded
Space peas coming, clanking, rolling
Silver smiles and silver soulling,
Come to our godforsaken planet,
To battle with the pomegranate.
