ooh misses

a woman and a man in the style of the 1960s

well that’s a matter of opinion,

I’ve had no complaints,

they’ve all got it infamy,

all over normandy,

and up yours.

really,

then do send him up to my room later,

next it was peace off,

there’s room for a couple of lodgers in there,

you wouldn’t let me.

once a week is enough for any man,

my gast has never been so flabbered,

you can be as wude as you like with me,

mine’s a pint,

you took the words right out of my mouth.

one around here with a big chopper,

what’s the matter with the other one,

what’s more I can prove it,

a little plastered,

she’s pregnant too.

you ought to put some talcum powder on them,

yes,

that there,

matron,

carry on phwoar.

Credit given to found quotes on the Carry On film franchise

waited no more

primitive style hominid manifesting a balloon like orb, palm trees and a sea setting paint the background

no score draw,

fate and freewills,

epic freewheels,

dancing no pain.

humble myself bowed,

expressionless,

painlessness,

now much less,

mislabelled it cowed.

the harmless fool,

quiet at school,

nobody left now,

memories of wow,

fading into foot.

© Copyright 2022 InkeyString

they’re a good dog

just not good at stuff,

learning to be human,

it seems rough,

definitely something to blog.

better to be a scruff,

and not gary numan?

why not, he’s tuft enough?

been outside much?

not nearly recogged,

more out of touch?

a blind man’s buff,

satan’s bitch?

lucian’s itch,

or someone called susan?

I like numan, he’s human,

are you amused by smidge?

anyway, they’re a good dog,

not a clever dog,

or a competent one.

they do what they’re told.

so what do I hear?

is it best to have beer?

shed a tear?

abandon all fear,

let the peace draw near,

abandon suffering,

it’s poison within us,

in the ignorant’s kind,

in the coveting,

the summoning

of an ending.

be kind to the dogs,

they’re only food to the starving,

if society eats animals,

wagonfuls of dumb food,

mandibles of the nude,

savages of the prude.

call it proud,

shout it loud,

and make it rude!

Cee on a Bee,

Pee FoUoD OR See.

© Copyright 2022 InkeyString

little ditty

here’s a little ditty I once said,
that scared bullies whilst in bed,
the devil in the corner,
felt sad at not being hornier,
as the hat stand was taking a rest.

Bethal Celle’Peeparoch, 1923

is this nonsense of course,

but should I travel down that hole,

find a place where no poet will go?

“..I’m crap, so crap, so funny, cuz it’s crap!.”

surrealism I do like, my life looks like my dreams,

is that sad?

have I accepted all I can be is an untidy lounge and a 7 year old controlling the TV?

must be mad, but it’s part of my reality.

I like a good quick rhyme, if there’s time,

to sit and write poems that mean nothing but fun.

but to make it smaller could make it a cream bun?

scampering on the floor,

the butterfly is no more,

sad now.

Jimmi Wee, 1943

why so light-hearted, is love fair?

I hope not, I’d prefer sandalwood and a quiet air,

I’m too old, too sold, too mould, too many folds,

you hear me right?

in trying to break free, the system broke me, now I choose stupidity.

if I’m stupid that’s fine, I don’t fear death as much as many find.

that makes me, what, not care, not wish to be there?

death is just going to happen, possibly without warning,

one moment I’m here, then I’m looking down at my head there.

“..died writing a poem blog on a mobile, the imbecile..”, why so self defeating?

easy, to me, you see, the “me” that you call me, means nothing to me.

so you tell me I’m my body and brain, without allowing me what’s mine?

I know I’m not just these, so much more, sometimes trees,

in the paper they give us written something about mes.

somewhere in a far field lays my metal tooth,

the only thing left from millions of years of death.

that’s all we are in the far future, a collection of dust in the stars,

just another chance at freedom from suffering with an unimaginable amount of scars.

© Copyright 2022 InkeyString