Losing One’s Lid

My rubbish bin has lost its lid

& asks me what to do..

“How would you feel if your Id,

was exposed to full view?





All that rancour, all that passion,

the outright lies and fibs

You wouldn’t want someone peering in

the trashcan of yr Id.





And what if the rain should tumble down?”

“All right,” I say, “all right, don’t be such a squib,

I’ll phone the local council up.

You shall soon have your lid.”





Everyone should have their lid,

pleasant though firmly secured.

The Id is not a pleasant spot

& should not be long endured.

The King and I

Like George V1, the king

subject to stuttering

I had a speech therapist too

who taught me how

to word switch

to philander with synonyms

I could slip into

how to pace myself

and summon the scribe

of stutterers before me

Lewis Carroll

Neville Shute

Updike

& dear old Aesop whose thoughts

often outran

the tired tortoise of his tongue.

A Very Heavy Ten Minutes

800px-Metallica_London_2008-09-15_Kirk_and_James

between

1.10 and 1.20

on Saturday afternoons

he pumps out

Polaris

Parkway Drive

Bring Me The Horizon

from his tiny unit

by which time

whatever he’s got

in his system

he’s got out

or whatever he hasn’t

he’s got in

 

  • pic of Metallica onstage in London courtesy of Wikimedia Commons:

Little White Horses

 

music

 

I was tearing along the coastal route

The little white horses racing into shore

When this song came over the radio

And galloped into my heart.

I pulled over onto the shoulder.

I was transported.

I closed my eyes and let the music

Take me.

8.30 seconds later I was released.

It was good to hear Derek and The Dominoes again.

It was good to hear ‘Layla’

 

What songs stop you in your tracks, transport you to other places? What songs do you pull over for?

 

What is it about the Mouth?

index

What is it about the mouth?

About putting things in it?

I don’t mean food or sexual organs.

I mean items that carry far less charge

Like food or birds.

I wrote a surrealist poem called ‘A Bird Flew in my Mouth’

But could find no appropriate illustration online.

Ditto for ‘What’s Feet Got to do With It?’

About putting one’s foot in one’s mouth.

Two fine poems I cannot post because I can’t find

An appropriate illustration even one I’m willing to pay for.

I approached a few street artists but they weren’t up to it.

I paid them 5 bucks for their efforts.

They were happy with that but I wasn’t.

Let’s be up front. I can’t draw and I can’t post these poems

Without illustrations because who’s going to read them ?

so I’ll just have to write about them:

The poems I have written but can’t post.

 

The Parable of the Breathing Tube

kisscc0-parable-of-the-good-samaritan-public-domain-samari-human-characteristics-charity-5b7578126d50d7.8606733315344251064478

“You won’t even know it’s there,” said the surgeon.

“My brother-in-law sure did,” I replied referring to the incident in the ICU which I witnessed.

AS he was coming out of his sleep, he became aware of the tube down his throat and began struggling with it so violently that he had to be held down while he was put back to sleep. He stayed that way for three days.

“You won’t even be aware of it,” the surgeon said, “and if you are you won’t remember.”

I decided to go with that. In the end you have to put your faith in something.

Still, some days later as I was wheeled into the operating theatre, the last conscious thought was of that tube down my throat.

Many hours later as I slowly awoke, I remember the doctor saying, “the breathing tube is out now, you can speak.”

“What breathing tube?” I asked.

The thing is, if you don’t know something has happened to you, has it really happened?

 

* inspired by Billy Mac’s ‘A Daughter’s Love’ from his ‘Superman can’t find a phone booth’ blog

Makeovers

cropped-img-1.jpg

I am re-badging my blog from a muted rural setting to a cheeky,

Irreverent bird,

a bird with balls, moxie,

Marching to his own beat, on his own path.

A Stand-up comic

a delver of the Absurd.

Not a morose follower of the herd.

No, this ostrich will not  bury his head in the sand.

This bird will bray,

be heard,

be unafraid.

He’s my mouthpiece. Listen to his words.

Before I Met Her

indhhh

Before I met her

I always laughed at cartoons

alone,

was astonished before paintings & poems

privately;

 

but now

five years later

I pass the magazine to her,

the one with the crazy cartoons.

Look at this, I say, & she does and smiles

Span our faces & rumble our bellies

like little laughing Buddhas;

 

Trouble shared is trouble halved,

my mother used to say — but Joy

Works inversely:

It is doubled when spent with another.

 

indhhh