Displaying posts published in

November 2009

Poem: My Garden Is Full Of Crap.

My Garden Is Full Of Crap. . The old lady next door Is a looney. The old woman next door Is a tartar. She has hundreds of cats And they’re driving me bats, By crapping all over my Iris Ensata. . .

I Want You Now.

I Want You Now. . I’ve wanted you For quite a time, Exactly when Will you be mine. Surely you know My need is real, Don’t you enjoy The way I feel. I think it’s time We had a screw And did the things That lovers do. . .

The People Who Lived On Stilts.

Hey, . I hope I find you well and happy today. . All is cool here. I have been up since the early hours, which has enabled me to have a bath, wash my hair, feed the birds, and enjoy a and …and all before the painters arrive at their usual hour of nine. . […]

Poem: That’s Finally It.

That’s Finally It. . . What happened to Your early words, You’re passion when We kissed, How did it change As time when by ‘Til now you raise Your fist. . .

Poem: Johnson Saves The Day.

Johnson Saves The Day. . . The army loved young Johnson He could fart in splendid style, Well loud, and long, and windy He was heard for half a mile. There came a situation When the phone was broke by mortars, So Johnson sent a fart morse code They heard back in headquarters. . .

Poem: Live With It.

Live With It. . . It was a simple, plastic spell, You never saw the seams. It was a truly heavy sell, A trade in porno dreams. That awful creature handled you Much better than I could, I wouldn’t take you back again No reason why I should. You’re just a broken wind-up toy And […]

Poem: Sex.

Sex. . Sex is good For when you’re bored It’s good for For when you’re not It’s good for Helping when you’re ill No matter What you’ve got . .

Call Of Duty…

Hey, . Tuesday again, I think! . It is hard to keep track at the moment because of all the upheaval. . Last night Big H rang the friend that he goes to play his computer games with one night a week, and asked him to come over and help him put up his new […]

Poem: Another World.

Another World. . . It is very boring Doing the hoovering. There is no I.Q. test For making beds. Shopping is a drag, But I’ve always known The reason why I cope. I love him, and he holds Another world than is In his fingertips. . .

Poem: Mismatch,

Mismatch. . . How I hate you, When we play this game Of left-hand jabs Below the belt. How can this match Be anything I need. Why can’t I be The linesman Who calls out. . .