Tag: poems

Bad Eggs

Whisking up the northern line,

An egg in every seat;

I’d like to crack their stipples shells

To get at that white meat.

 

Whisking up the northern line,

An egg has cracked itself;

The kind of egg my mother has

Me put back on the shelf.

 

Whisking up the northern line,

One clucks into its phone;

This egg will make bad omelettes

And underglaze a scone.

Friday Night

Things to observe when you next go clubbing:

Pre-cooked boy with the python eyes.

Reptilian man tastes pressure.

Gay friend plays the boyfriend disguise.

Ascents like an M.C. Escher.

Pretty girl shirking with a cheek,

Too meek to stamp or claw an eye.

He cradles into her tired week

And moves his hands down to her sly.

 

All this you’ll see and waive, because

Mate, honestly, I was so waved.

Sorry

The A in DNA stands for apology.

People will give a pass to astrology

But not to that.

That confuses me because I love a good sorry.

I’m a contrition addict, and sometimes my sorries

Contradict their surroundings.

I apologise for emails

Both pragmatic and necessary,

And I apologise to 4×4 drivers

When I semi-run on zebra skins.

Oh, sorry: the DN stands for Deoxyribonucleic.

The Post Box

The child says that post box is red.

The student exclaims, “That post box is blood-red.”

The school-poet suggest That post box is blushing scarlet.

The moron asserts That post box is red as a step-daddy striking mother in a whiskey cloud.

The writer says that post box is red.