My poetry never gets read

My poetry never gets read

it hides in street corners instead

it lurks in the shadows of grey days

and seeps like a Smokey cigar out the window in a haze

It gathers at poetry recitals

where it splutters and mumbles

into action

my poetry is just a distraction

an interaction between a mad man and an audience

an ordinate scream

like pissing in a stream

and wondering what it smelt like

starving poets told to go on hikes

My poetry never gets read

it feeds the angels instead

but they don’t share

or care

enough to tell

what poetry of mine is from heaven and what is from hell.

I just like writing

poetry which is like lyrics without musical interlude

I know it’s rude but never mind you won’t read it anyway

and if you do have nice day…

I have a few questions

Do vampires get tooth decay?

Do werewolves get fleas?

Do zombies have to use prosthetic knees?

Do fairy tale princesses always say please?

Can witches have white weddings?

What do mummies have for their bedding?

Do Orcs have to shave?

Do angels ever misbehave?

What is a goblin’s average height?

And do ever they get tall?

Do giants ever start off small?

I’d like to ask these questions

If you have some thoughts or suggestions,

Please get in touch

My address is;

1 The Wizards tower

rainbow close

Fairy land.

Ha 2YU

A flipping marvellous Pancake poem

Pancake pancake why won’t you mix?
Pancake pancake why do you stick?
Pancake pancake why don’t you go to plan?
Pancake pancake why do you get burnt in the pan?

Pancake pancake this should have been fun
pancake pancake why do you run
when you’re stuck to the ceiling it’s no fun

Pancake pancake I would have had you with lemon and syrup
but I am laughing and crying so much I have got the hiccups.

Grumpa (about a Grumpy Grandfather)

Grumpa

Sitting in your old arm chair,

With a devil may care,

Attitude.

Talking about the ingratitude

Of youth.

Watching TV,

Eating microwaveable meals,

Grumpa,

I still love you,

I remember the times when I was young,

and you helped me,

when I was stung,

by a wasp,

or fell over.

Life is hard,

it makes you,

grumpy and 

lonely,

Please think of the things you’ve shown me,

Rather than talking about the things that make you despair

I know behind the passive aggression you still care,

I know I sometimes take the Mick,

But really Grumpa,

I can see all your tricks,

There is still, to my surprise,

magic behind those eyes,

And bedtime stories waiting to be read.

Grumpa, 

Don’t lose the thread 

We all need a grandfather like you,

For you have all the experience,

You will know what to do!

Just thoughts

Thoughts

Thoughts should fill my mind

but I am blind.

my words just hot air

and my tears just water

I sink beneath the autumn leaves

I am just caught here.

my sentiments just cliches

my ideas yesterday views

the true artists leave me

they pick apart my clues

My brain just wreckage

my poems just spoken

all thats left of me is shopping carts

and Tesco’s tokens

My wages are benefits

My unemployed gains

I am picking apart the drains

for my blood stains

everything I do

I haven’t even got a clue…

When Facebook…

When Facebook is filled with memes

broken pictures and shattered dreams

when you respond with a haha like

but no one recognises your plight

when they are too busy finding out their character is that of a potato

and you get ignored but don’t hate though

when they share posts like who would narrate your life

and you want to get out of that conversation because it probably be piers Morgan and his wife

remember you chose to live on Facebook and be a troll

and life is out your door and off your phone which is sucking away your soul.

Don’t you remember when we were kids

Don’t you remember when we were kids

when you proposed to your childhood crush with a hula hoop ring

sung nursery rhymes and pretended to be king

of a castle and that your friend was a dirty rascal

played hop scotch in the playground
and run across and TIG your it
and you ran across the school yard with glee
just because you could with me
we though it was great to grow up
but we sometimes miss those days
finger painting and art
now all we dream of is shopping carts
and money ain’t it funny
how growing up was a trap
and how we used play was so inventive
creating pretend treasure maps.