The lines behind my brow

The lines behind my brow


 

Equally global for needling cloth together…
Phat’n’ phunky and grouped into 8’s, 3’s, 24’s or ‘mores’ for the back-ends of electric wire connects…
Wrapped co-axially for unbelievable power communication cross cultures…
Bent in Spring to drive time pieces…
Soldered and Pumping multi-message…
Readying the Suburban Universe of Interactive TV Jockeys…
Putting an equal foot on your stairs for Tribal grit…
Totally Trashing the growth in forest devastation…
Aiding Fusion of the F1ip Resource…Holding back and holding in …
I place my finger
Like a pin
On random lines
Not on the web
But running round
Within my head.

Hedradwall Cabbard and the Suejuice Bird

Hedradwall Cabbard and the Suejuice Bird


 

Hedradwall Cabbard raised his barrel
At the Suejuice Bird – in best apparel.
His flight or plight –  to west or east
Was ‘soar away’, or ‘die as feast’!The shutters closed in and around.
Most fond peekers made no sound
But backed from blinds and thus could see
Not what or how the end would be.
One shot was fired from rod of two
But missed and hit a stanky flue.

“My Ball-Cock!” shouted out a man,
Who chased as far as catch it can,
But stopped on edge by rope stretched tight
His murmured “You”! issued at height.
“You’ll stop my Wind, you gunning fart,
Get off my windcock – shoo depart.
My balcony’s not made for rope
And old green flippered shooting blokes.

The Suejuice Bird stood very still,
Not wishing anybody ill,
Reflecting on the second shot
From Cabbard’s gun and the winded sot
Who’s fate pre-packed by “let him be”
Was sheltered from sobriety!

And in this state of stanky poo,
Our characters exist for you.
This poem was simply meant to be,
Sub-fuse of tone and all for free!