Mel + Sanj (Jan 2011)
We started with a confibulous alphabet
and drank too many words.
My Great Great Grandfather
painting frescoes with an electric toothbrush
is not futile.
He watched his son grow up
and immature by flint and fire
eating microwaved beards.
His offspring, bald and rich
unplugged the candle
(save the ozone!)
leaving her children invisible
their complatitude waxed
into today's watchoholics.
It is not always what goes after it;
it's how it relates to what goes before.
Tuesday 11 January 2011
Mulled Poetry
by Emily, Mel, Sanjay, Steve and others
A poem is like a late night snog
A kite is like a low maintenance pet
Everyone keeps walking in
Through the window
Why can't they use the door?
Like a Cook lost underground
Garotted by a purple scarf
All the brothers and sisters congregate
The blind leading the blind
Full of starfish nobody wants to buy
It really doesn't have to rhyme.
Requiem to Woolworths
by Mel, Sanjay, and Steve, New Year's Eve
It's true to some you're known as Woolies,
And you give to me the warm and fuzzies.
No time to pick and mix your fate;
For future kids it's now to late -
If this be paris, they'd demonstrate
To remonstrate your curt demise;
To Turk's delight you're the sultanate,
Cheerfully cheap we all surmise.
O Architecture of my youth
To whom I lost many a tooth,
For plastic toys you are divine;
You would've survived if you sold wine!
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