Poem About The Man Who Cured A Dripping Tap

In the receding distance
I see the man who made the soap dirty.

Close up I observe my reflection
Like a skeleton concerned about its complexion

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Tie A Yellow Ribbon

Tie A Yellow Ribbon

Tie A Yellow Ribbon

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Song Of The Cosmic Gerbil

Televisions hang from hilltop gibbets
Their screens show burning water.
Cracked eggheads ski down conifers
Whose trunks are burnt out candles.
The upside down bird says “all saints are sinners”.

An arrow shot heart is up and down bounced
By a sea lion in a pram.
Milk flows from an empty head
The cows have axe tails and alarm clocks heads.
The right way up bird says “all saints are sinners”.

A dripping tap emerges from an over ripe apple
Fresh fruit jump on an army helmet UFO.
A fruit bowl becomes a pelmet sailing boat
The hourglass table harbours gunpowder sandwiches.
As I swing on a see-saw with great white shark eyes.

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Short Poem

The far away hills are illuminated by a bicycle sun
The cyclist rests on a giant centipede
Skyscrapers are dagger hilts
Their blades thrust into ancestral newspaper flesh

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Short Poem

The lady sits down with thought bubbles for a bikini
The man wearing a bowler hat in the bath resembles me
The lady stops thinking
I pull an egg from my naked top pocket

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All Clouds Are Really Pink

All clouds are really pink
All birds are suspension bridges
All hawthorn bushes wear hats
All Classical Greek columns are empty
All Toby jugs swim in the Sargasso sea
All deep lakes hide tenon saws
All school teachers stand on their heads
All bright green ostriches live in haversacks
All bright blue sauropods live in fields

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Fast Poem

A line of men getting progressively smaller
The last one has toadstools instead of wolf like ears.

I read the tombstone face with a thermometer candle
This went out when it reached 98.6 degrees Fahrenheit.

The lady I met in the flying submarine half smiled
The light bulbs in her necklace lit one by one.

I crouch on coprolites with a stepladder on my knees
The iceberg at the top had just caught on fire.

The moray eel in a hot air balloon prays to the ground
Grey clouds form the shape a braking articulated lorry.

I push my head through a crumbling sand clock
The rest of the merman’s body is trapped inside.

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