fruity

‘Do you want some fruit?’ he asked,

I passed; unaware he actually meant ‘would you care to partake

And indulge in some strawberries and cream. . ?’

Now I see what you mean I am jealous to the seems

I will as you request and wish

Eat up this clichéd dish.

The Ship Out

People told me you were cool, But I didn’t know you at all.

Drinking Doom in the tar’d barred dark barmat room,

I asked you out on a date - fashionably at far to fast a rate.

Blessed with a yes and relieved of stress I left the rest for later.

With numbers exchanged excuses and exits were made,

Days past, may av it be at last stayed as me in the glass.

To be drinker and server in the gabble and the gossip

And have an agenda of acknowledgement acquired on advice

Hopefully forgives floored full forward friendliness.

You reasoned me an unseasoned tree.

Texting no you fled un’ flea.

Cant blame ee’ luv,

Seems the same every time guv.  

jerk alert

Tamar is talking to me. I listen as it is some quite deep stuff. I’m thinking about what she says, trying to work solutions into the conversation. Were both drinking wine and Nelly is asleep on the sofa next to Tay. I’m looking around the disordered room and it reminds me of last night’s mild carnage. I’ve been awake to long and now I am drunk. I’m trying to focus on what Tay says, so hard. He voice trails off into a monotonous drone and my eyelids at last give into the effects of gravity. . . .

~I’m on a beach at dusk, I talk to a dwarf and he. . .~

Shlugb!!!

I hear a gush and I am wet, I jerk alert to the sound of laughter. My empty wine glass in my hand at my soaking side leads me to the obvious conclusion. “Fucksake” I say. Tamar is telling me off for not listening and I have to say after having indulged in an Einstein inspired power nap I am more awake now than I have been for hours.

Shakespearian Sonnet in the cornish dialect

Av word sec son? Got tell ee this,

See don’t know ow to say it nice-

So ah’ll say it real, at the risk

Of tears. But hear it at that price:

I elp ee but ee dont elp me,

When ee ask me ah’ll lend an and

But when i ask ee fled an flea!

Tis cat an mouse an sit an stand

Pick ee up an ee put me down,

Give ee the keys an ee shut doors!

Drive me mad, a bad lad full frown’d

Get off ee ass an stop the boar,

Belt up an fix flaws, throw way toys-

Tis time to be a man my boy!

Punked Out!

Iggy Pop's premoting iffy car insurance,
Jonny Rotten's selling dirty dairy,
Kurt Cobain's said to stack shelves in Tescos. . .
A sell out sentence worth less than death!

Tentbound, waiting for the rain to stop, the sandsifter to open and the pards to arrive!

wet debts dreamt to the dry field
slept is left for later as the humidity exempts snuggled sub-dudes long overdew to renew slumbered phews.
beans bursting my seems like a good idea at the time to unwind or at least try to find away to stay interested never bested by the low atmosphere.
my lack of peers pressured by the weathers relentless endeavers.
outside one magpie in the pampass grass, then two then one again then two then one then two
sorrow joy sorrow joy sorrow joy, borrowed ploys never to annoy untill i see a car arrive full of my boys!
and on i go. . . idealio! x