Parsley Sage Rosemary and Rhyme

Ha ha. Found some of my old poetry, stuff written in the mid 90s, by a no-doubt-conceited teenager. Unbelievable stuff. sheesh.

Down to Urth
There's a butterfly shouting somewhere
To a meddling mosquito's cantata
There's a lieuten-ant with a pomme-de-terre
And not the ear for the operetta

Stocks his bobbing abdomen
With starchy sustenance
Hasn't the fine acumen
Of cultural parlance
He's never looked at the sky.
Never wondered why.

With a well-filled ante-room larder
He's felt to be a good father

To a Pencil
You've a whole wood body
And a belly full of lead
Scratch my black thoughts on white
Spew yourself dead.

Mindless self-sacrificial pole
Dwindling every day
Duller every minute
Etch out what you mean.

What forgotten mother spawned your length
Slim waif of word and song
Nondescript pulchritude
In writing flesh and bone you belong.

Six-cornered circle
with dark blind centre eye
Watch where you draw your line
When you die you'll leave behind
Only your charred soul

God help your earthlife dust
If there's a rubber close to hand
Your fragments
Tomorrow's sand.



There's a lot more... will probably put em up sometime.