Monday, 24 October 2011

class poetry (edited)

He Grew

He grew:
A skeletal anchor rooted heavy
Amidst molten spew erupting out
Cavernous mouths from derelict minds.

Against parades on courses to
Lives full of squalor
They sheltered in shadow.

When singed by the sun, he looked longingly below.



Slugs get out of the garden
Sew suits in Italian
Grow taller with thread count

Monday morning’s hello was a slug on my pillow.
Maybe was there over night
Drawling slug whispers.

I should have been frightened

A terrific cook
Oozing slug juice


Only God, My Dear

She sheds hair on everything.
It’s the condiment of choice.
A great supply provided by
Gold drunk weavers.

It is in her shirt and prepared food,
You’ll never guess what stuffed my coat,
Adorned pillows, King duvets, and our child’s little throat.

We thought that it would be messy.
But everything’s so easy now to clean!
Shampoo, lather, rinse, repeat it;
Formulaic and pristine.

Like chapel.

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