Tuesday, 16 August 2016

The Lasses Stand Many

The lasses stand many.
Have done for yore.
Amassed, aplenty
They've macked,
They've tacked.
These forestry sentinels.

'Till greedy wind
From Establishman
Without pause (!) causes
A callous decision,
Which grows on
This beating heart.

But! Such pulsating show,
Not beaten yet,
Wind can be farmed
With natures deft.
Ne'er be still
This wicked,
Cutting breeze.
For mighty ant
Rufuses heed.
For it's one of millions
In this bosom,
Can put a stop to
Self-promotion and
Eat the foundations
Of high and mighty
Tree-housed nations,
Shift fragile twigs,
Build the nests for
Brethrens' bones
And repair this
Narcissistic wooden

"Las" in Polish means "Forest"
Search this:
It's incredibly important.

Tuesday, 9 August 2016

Pointlessly Perfectly Pleasantly Pervades Purpose

He holds the object of his lust too close
When 'companied by his closest mate
Who feel the distance at this boring point
In an pointless pub and an England friendly.

The two feint like Gazza leaving patronising tones in their wake
And the defensesless on her backside,
For although
It is unsaid,
But all about that.

Mordern lads' with media hair
And bench-pressed weights to compare
Until their brotherly love is back
To being spread thinly like Philadelphia cheese on the gluten free toast of life,
By the Infadel of superficial beauty unavailable at 0% interest.

Preened cats having a six grand pork scratch
Pondering and trying before buying
The sap
In a badly converted forest
Where wolves stuck together once, honest
And only hunted when nessecary.

One confused woodpecker.
Two plaid-shirted loggers.