MY NAME’S JOE…
My name’s Joe but they call me Slow ‘cos
I really didn’t know – she dumped me.
She never said a word - just dumped me!
But I suppose I should have known when
I caught her sneaking home – this morning.
That really should have been my warning.
Then I found her up in bed with Red
Hot Ged! And she just sat there yawning.
My name’s Joe but they call me Slow ‘cos
I really didn’t know - she dumped me.
251007
Tuesday, 30 October 2007
Sunday, 28 October 2007
New Poetry Postings...
DON'T YOU KNOW!
STOP
PRESS
Just to keep you up to speed - I have posted three NEW POEMS on my Inland Driftwood! blog. They are: Fashionista!, His Masters Voice and Who's That Guy? clink-the-link HERE
STOP
PRESS
Just to keep you up to speed - I have posted three NEW POEMS on my Inland Driftwood! blog. They are: Fashionista!, His Masters Voice and Who's That Guy? clink-the-link HERE
Tuesday, 23 October 2007
Consolation Prize! TOP 3 Horse
CONSOLATION PRIZE
(FOR SALLY)
VERY SOON!
More arty than artisan
much more crafty than craftsman
but my bathroom's almost done
all the tiles except one...
Wall that is - but very soon
it will look right, then I'll be
bathing - morning, noon and night.
71095
Totally Optional Prompts
ONE HORSE
The Kings soldiers come in the night
kill his father, rape his mother.
'You can't make a silk purse...' they curse
as they force the pig farmers wife
one after another till dawn.
They tie the boy to a donkey
so that he has to run behind.
They ride out of the piggery,
fording the cold stream at first light.
When they are sure the boy can't read
they cut out his tongue for the dogs
and brand him with a hot iron
urinating on his fresh wound
they leave him lying there bleeding
for the camp-followers to find.
In an un-interpretable
hieroglyphic of his own hand
he scrawls his last thoughts on the wall
of the royal stable in blood:
One horse powers a thousand dreams...
TOP3-221007
(FOR SALLY)
VERY SOON!
More arty than artisan
much more crafty than craftsman
but my bathroom's almost done
all the tiles except one...
Wall that is - but very soon
it will look right, then I'll be
bathing - morning, noon and night.
71095
Totally Optional Prompts
ONE HORSE
The Kings soldiers come in the night
kill his father, rape his mother.
'You can't make a silk purse...' they curse
as they force the pig farmers wife
one after another till dawn.
They tie the boy to a donkey
so that he has to run behind.
They ride out of the piggery,
fording the cold stream at first light.
When they are sure the boy can't read
they cut out his tongue for the dogs
and brand him with a hot iron
urinating on his fresh wound
they leave him lying there bleeding
for the camp-followers to find.
In an un-interpretable
hieroglyphic of his own hand
he scrawls his last thoughts on the wall
of the royal stable in blood:
One horse powers a thousand dreams...
TOP3-221007
Thursday, 18 October 2007
TOP 2 Lute - Player
LYRE - LIAR!
Lyre and flute you play each day
the wood wind sends a shrill thrill,
songs we used to make love to
the lute player is no liar!
TOP2-151007
Lyre and flute you play each day
the wood wind sends a shrill thrill,
songs we used to make love to
the lute player is no liar!
TOP2-151007
Tuesday, 16 October 2007
TOP 1 Salt Girl, A Poem, Plucky Pluckers.
SALT GIRL:
Taste it with your tongue
lick it from my lips
my neck my breast
my hips my lips
and salivate inside
until you come
back to the sea.
TOP1-121007
A POEM
A short story is
so many words
a novelette is
a little longer but
shorter than a novel.
And a poem,
a really short poem
can say more in
just a few lines,
in one thought almost,
than a trillion epic volumes,
written by the wrong man.
8797
PLUCKY PLUCKERS
Talent is a
two way street
a dead heat in an
egg and spoon race.
We've all got it,
but for what?
And where is it?
Even if you can
find it - define it?
How does one
express it?
When there's so
many other happy
go plucky pluckers
out there!
8797a
Taste it with your tongue
lick it from my lips
my neck my breast
my hips my lips
and salivate inside
until you come
back to the sea.
TOP1-121007
A POEM
A short story is
so many words
a novelette is
a little longer but
shorter than a novel.
And a poem,
a really short poem
can say more in
just a few lines,
in one thought almost,
than a trillion epic volumes,
written by the wrong man.
8797
PLUCKY PLUCKERS
Talent is a
two way street
a dead heat in an
egg and spoon race.
We've all got it,
but for what?
And where is it?
Even if you can
find it - define it?
How does one
express it?
When there's so
many other happy
go plucky pluckers
out there!
8797a
Tuesday, 9 October 2007
For National Poetry Day:
Portrait of Mario by Amedeo Modigliani 1920 - Mario Varvogli the Greek musician was reputedly the last person to sit for Modigliani before his premature death in 1920 - pic credit myartprints.co.uk where you can purchase this poster.
TOUT - TOUT...
Tout le monde,
Montparnasse to Montmartre.
The street theatre of art.
Jeanne, oh what a dream
it all must have seemed
in nine-teen seven-teen.
Buongiorno Livorno!
Uno vino rosso, per favore.
Don't you know that the -
fruit of the vine -
is the fuel of the drug.
Amore, they say in the
language of love.
Dolce Vita! Mario.
He sits for the portrait
that hangs on my wall.
He's very thin +
he's very tall.
From Athenia to Pigalle
he's seen it all.
And the artist draws a fine line,
for a bottle of wine.
Rouge, blanc, rose.
They all go down the same way.
Day after day,
by the banks of the Seine.
And even Modigliani can dance.
Modi, Modi, Modi!
Yeah, you really showed the moda
how to take off all her clothes.
Nu couche,
Qu'est que c'est?
C'est la vie!
C'est tout...
PC28907
TALKING LAMBRETTA'S
It was one of those days
that sticks in your mind
that you'll never forget
for the rest of time.
And yet, I met a geezer
just yesterday. We were
talking Lambretta's and
Mods and things...
But it still took us
ten minutes to discover
that we knew each other.
and that he was with me
on that day!
71007
TOUT - TOUT...Tout le monde,
Montparnasse to Montmartre.
The street theatre of art.
Jeanne, oh what a dream
it all must have seemed
in nine-teen seven-teen.
Buongiorno Livorno!
Uno vino rosso, per favore.
Don't you know that the -
fruit of the vine -
is the fuel of the drug.
Amore, they say in the
language of love.
Dolce Vita! Mario.
He sits for the portrait
that hangs on my wall.
He's very thin +
he's very tall.
From Athenia to Pigalle
he's seen it all.
And the artist draws a fine line,
for a bottle of wine.
Rouge, blanc, rose.
They all go down the same way.
Day after day,
by the banks of the Seine.
And even Modigliani can dance.
Modi, Modi, Modi!
Yeah, you really showed the moda
how to take off all her clothes.
Nu couche,
Qu'est que c'est?
C'est la vie!
C'est tout...
PC28907
TALKING LAMBRETTA'S
It was one of those days
that sticks in your mind
that you'll never forget
for the rest of time.
And yet, I met a geezer
just yesterday. We were
talking Lambretta's and
Mods and things...
But it still took us
ten minutes to discover
that we knew each other.
and that he was with me
on that day!
71007
Tuesday, 2 October 2007
Song #15
WHEN YOU COME
When you come
knocking on my door
I'll take you back
like I did before,
'coz I luv you!
I love you
more + more...
Hey, yeah you!
I miss you,
yes I do!
And every day
that passes by
I cry + I cry
'coz I miss you
more + more!
Hey, yeah you!
I love you
yes I do!
repeat 27907
When you come
knocking on my door
I'll take you back
like I did before,
'coz I luv you!
I love you
more + more...
Hey, yeah you!
I miss you,
yes I do!
And every day
that passes by
I cry + I cry
'coz I miss you
more + more!
Hey, yeah you!
I love you
yes I do!
repeat 27907
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)