ponderous poetry for the hoi polloi




The sharp-witted teeth of my

Hair comb,

No friend of the foppish flop of a


Think less man and more

Maine Coon,

Who gives a toss about


To catch a kiss in spring

Take me back

To the fizz, whizz and


Of her popping candy kisses,

Caresses of a dragon,

How the smoke detector’s

Defective, defunct, and dangerously lacking,

In an ice chamber

Built for



Yes my lips still crave the

Burning breath of her


È più che perfetto!

(I’ve taught myself to say),

This pistol, plume thistle,

Please whistle me down the wind,

And I’ll hope to catch

A kiss in


Miss Goody Goody Two Shoes

Miss Goody Goody Two Shoes,

Bootlicker, spaniel,

As pure a nun’s two level feet,

With no heel to aggravate the earth,

Soft-soaping, unsullied sop,

Blowing bubbles with every word…


“Oh my what clean teeth you have!”

“All the better to sweet talk you with…”

But how sickly sweet is the cloying smell of worship,

Working up a lather at the back of your


White amaryllis,

Am I right in thinking?

That only silver queens pass the test of time.

Polly Chromatic


Where be my rainbow wonder?

(Do I even dare to find her?)

Tie-dye bride, Diana,

Holographic splendour,

Waving at me from behind the

Seckel pear tree…



She’s a technicolour knockout!

(And I’ve the bruises to prove it),

The girl with the smile oh so prismatic,

Multicoloured kisses,

You can almost taste the tulips in




She’s that slick of oil

In an otherwise spiritless puddle,

Post-war downpour,

(What is it good for?)

Absolutely everything!

Of this I’m sure…


Pow! Bang! Pop!

She’ll make your heart stop!

Gee wiz, gee golly,

That girl’s a zap lolly,

So stick up your brolly,

And shut your trolly,

And just enjoy the rain in


Cinnamon Roll


And for my brekkie,

You can be my cinnamon roll,

Pocket revolver and

Saccharine soldier,

Doing battle with my wisdom teeth,

Too foolish to avoid,

The freckle-faced ammonoid,

Which washed up on my

Schauss pink shores.


You’re the toffee apple of my eye,

Crystal iris,


Manning the wheel in that woeful sky,

How blessed I am to be by your side.


You’re my milkweed butterfly,

Stained glass window,

Glacial spy,

With looking glass wings fresh from Versailles,

How blessed I am to be by your side.


Yes, you’re my polysaccharide,


Half bottle of rye,

But enough to make me pumpkin pie-eyed,

How blessed I am to be by your side.


You’re even my silver iodide,

For every cloud

Has a silver line, in

Case you didn’t hear me first time,

How blessed I am to be by your side.


You’re the saint that drives my tides,

Roman goddess,

The sunshine’s bride,

Games divine without design

And how blessed I am to be,


By your


Ten Pin Rolling

Rolling, rolling, rolling…

Such is my brain with every kiss,

It sits,

Like a pear drop in your mouth,

Revolving, dissolving,

Turning your tongue to litmus paper,

Oh pray I pass the acid test!


Rolling, rolling, rolling…

Such is my heart with every word,

No matter how absurd,

You’re the circus artiste and acrobat

Who trained a cobra to tango,

So telepathic, allopathic,

All-inclusive pleasure!


Rolling, rolling, rolling…

Such are my eyes with every look,

That ocular grappling hook,

And how thankful I am for the


Dear pinball wizardess,

Take my whites for a spin!



Rolling, rolling, rolling…

Such is my spine with every touch,

Don’t stray too much,

Just tell me what’s on the agenda?

Costal jenga?

Coastal splendour,

Spend a little time with me,


And we can keep rolling, rolling, rolling…



With every closed-eye hallucination I endure,

My love for you, and your love for me

Becomes ever more


Something to whet the palette

I’ll make you as red

As the blushing fruits of a

Summer pudding,

Sweet berry bonanza,

A seasonal answer,

And cure for your wintery heart.



I’ll make you as orange

As a wee dram of


Oh so boozy woozy,

My marmalade jacuzzi,

Still turning my mind to jam.


Oh yes!

I’ll make you as yellow

As the rubber ducky in my

Bath, ye

Sexy soapsuds-surfer,

Wave-crashing big bertha,

How’s it bedtime already?


Yes! Yes!

I’ll make you as green

As the sour apples in my


Hard-boiled satisfaction,

Sharp-witted distraction,

And caustic cause for content.



I’ll make you as black

As my mid-morning


Eager-eyed eight ball,

That jet-threaded waterfall,

And saviour of my weary mind.


But no!

I’ll make you as white

As the snow in my


This frosty reception,

Nowt more than deception,

When your kisses still give me warmth.


And since I know that these colours

Are better suited to you,

I promise, my love,

Never to make you feel blue.

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