Peas please me

Peas please me.
Never forget pea.
It’s all about pea.
Let it pea.
It wasn’t meant to pea.
I need a pea.
Be the best that you can pea.
What you think you pea is only
What you want to pea.
Eat, drink and pea merry,
For tomorrow we die,
And/or get put in a pie.


Slick, quick, angry click

Slick, quick, angry click
Thick and think blink of an eyelid drink
Drink and drink some more
The mess that other people make
Of their sorry day by day lives
Ordinary problems ordinary
Places ordinal numbers
Plumbers, clamber under
Seemingly ordered doorways
Leading and leading on
To green green pea filled
Folly jolly dolly,
It’s fine and all good
When all is said
And done.
You have won for
Some pea ple always come out on top
And others drop and roll
Deeper underground
Banter canters onward at its own pace
And wins the race.

The prune and the pea

A prune lay shrivelled all alone,
Full of juice she picked the phone
(a phone box, dingy, dull yet dry
Beneath the dreary Bexhill sky).
She dialled the number, plain to see,
She tried to reach her call, the pea.
She wittered on and whatted so,
Her thoughts flew fast, her life was slow.
The pea responded, thoughtless quick.
His voice was honey, oil slick.
The prune grew drier day by day,
pea couldn’t hear a word she said.
The moral of this story is:
Fruit and vegetables just don’t mix.

Badger soup and pea surprise

Normalise, normalise
Standard issue, standard size
Normalise, normalise
Not too stupid, not too wise
Rationalise, rationalise
Badger soup and pea surprise
Rationalise, rationalise
Look a pilchard in the eye
Categorise, categorise
Bake your blazer in a pie
Categorise, categorise
Take some words and make them sky
Float them kitewards, make them high.

The Pea Man

The pea man works in a tucked away nook,

Where no-one goes and no-one looks.

If you get too close his breath is peaty,

He is, to be honest, rather creepy.

Those that have seen him think he’s a vision,

If they ever speak out they are met with derision.

His pupils are green and his eyelashes grassy,

If you try to make small talk he gets a bit arsey.

He never wears blue as it clashs with his hair,

I think he is probably not quite all there.

He rolls through time making plans and plots,

I think he’s there but he says I’m not.


The slugs are evolving

It may be my mind is full of fug
But I maintain it was a slug.
It’s clear you see that they’re evolving,
I saw one tackling a revolving
Door, you know quite skilfully,
Their mastery is plain to see.
And then it rocked up to reception
(Well that at least was my perception).
And if one clearly managed that
It’s not unlikely they attacked
My pint glass, filled to brim with beer,
And quaffed it down and gave a cheer
Of triumph as they chortled out
The garden gate, without a doubt.
Raising empty glass aloft,
Pausing momentarily to scoff
My strawberries, so warm and moist
Their sluggish hearts must have rejoiced.
Then made straight for the horse and crown
And later headed into town.