Put me in a rocket
With some peas
In my pocket,
I’ll be fine.
Is of the essence
And there’s plenty,
My days won’t be empty.
Travelling at the speed of light,
A pea-fuelled rocket flight
Is as good a way as any
To turn one day into many.
Stars are twinkling in the sky,
On and on (with peas) I fly.
Peas are green,
Peas are round,
Peas in the freezer
Don’t make a sound.
(At least that’s what most people think,
But if you watch you’ll see them wink).
They’re a frozen-super-master-race,
Descended down from outer space
(Well, suburb space to be pedantic,
But mention that, they’ll grow quite frantic,
So I feign awe at their credentials
And marvel at their green potential).
They’re waiting for the ice age thaw
To rule us like they did before.
In the dead of night I hear them trill
“We’ll get out soon, I’m sure we will.”
I dwell alone in a skull of bone,
It’s dank and dark,
I call it home:
A basket, case,
I’m off this trolley,
Ancient rack and holy brolly.
I rattle round this.
I’m a stone,
A fossil grown in shoes of bone.
I’m dry and rattle moisty feet,
They jump and squizzle, seek relief.
This dull drum skull skin’s stretched too tight.
The waterpuss is out tonight
And lapping at my ears and feet,
You never know here what you’ll meet:
A fat rat-rack,
So juicy sweet,
The rarest vintage you will meet.
A glassy mirror, sea of peas,
I glaze in awe on bended knees.
I can’t get up, I’m frozen solid,
Musty air drifts round me.
Peas please me.
PEAS RELEASE ME!
Never forget pea.
It’s all about pea.
SO SUE PEA.
Let it pea.
It wasn’t meant to pea.
I need a pea.
Be the best that you can pea.
CAN’T YOU 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.
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.
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
Blackout shout-out CONTINUATION OF DOUBT,
Zoplicone stuffed whole baked trout
With almonds, flaked and
THE SHAKES and crazier glazier
Told me once to murmur
About the Berber
(I may be growing fat)
And far away the jars are calling,
Peas are still and ladles falling
Beat a morse code warning
THE MOLES CAN HEAR THE BANJO(E)S DAWNING.
Inside my mind a path was clear,
And shiny spaced
water rushes, gushes in
and drowns the thoughts
and freezes warmth and sloshes.
Clumsy great drops
And splodge their way.
Mindlessly squelching muddy wellybootprints
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.