Sphincter factor nine approaches
food for the fish n roaches
methinks its time for me perhaps
to open up the rearward *****.


------------------------------------
AAChoo !!

Oh, liddle sister, Josephine,
you sure don't keep your
nose real clean.
got stalactites
o' pure pea green
my infectious sibling
snot machine.
----------------------------------------
I thought that I might shoot the breeze
with God or Mephistopheles
and ask them please to ease my wheeze
of my bad back and dodgy knees
---------------------------
Croak with the raven
bluff with the crow
the urchin
the field mouse
beneath the hedgerow
in a flurry they scurry
away away go.
Yelp with the *****
howl with the hound
and bay at the moon
till the sun comes around.
------------------------------------------
Gino's bar and grill.

Away, away afore Bacchus
doles out befuddlement
and Morpheus has his way,
lest I awake to find myself
in the company of
sodamistic bedfellows
with buggery in mind.
---------------------------------
Harry Potter has grown a beard
he lives alone and turned out weird.
Dumbledore, Albus, no more
turned his toes and 'ad a snore,
Voldemort, who's *** is taut
has no nose with which to snort.
====================

Ahem !!

Behind two Lilies- sits Rose,
then Daisies
for two and a bit rows.
with Poppy, and *****
Petunia, Primrose.
and Bryony - who gets up
- my nose.
----------------------------------------------
Amen.
God bless the Cows - for beef burgers.
God bless the Pig - for their bacon.
God bless the wife n her sharp knife
for the slice of their **** she's taken.

-------------------------------------------------
We can, no more fetter the sea to the shore
nor the clouds to the sky
or tether the glint
in a lovers eye,
As sure as the shore loves the sea
so shall I love thee, together,
together for eternity,

-----------------------------------

It bends for thee
sweet chevin,
the cane thats cleaved
by three,
wilt thou now
sweet chevin
yield, my friend ,
for me.
-------------------------------------------------
There's Marmalade then Marmite
and Jams thats jammed between
the buttered bread of bard-dom
a poets sweet cuisine.
---------------------------------------------
I took up campanology
and fired up my ****.
I rang that bell
to ******* hell
till the busies
came along.
--------------------------------------------
so, I've been whittling away
at a buoyant ****-
fashioned something approximating
a poo canoe-
in it, I intend to
surf the **** tsunami of old age
to-- death;
I have named it Public - Service - Pension.


----------------------------------------------

A surreptitious delightful tryst,
with my honey, my sebaceous cyst.
she's my pimple, my wart,
my gumboil consort.
she's the zip, in which
my *******, got caught.
--------------------------------------
Frayed at the bottoms
ripped at the knee.
baggy and saggy
big enough for three.
faded and jaded
and stained with ***
but I'm due for a new pair--
Yippeeeee!!

---------------------------------------

Ther­e's Cockerel in my ear
and he bills and coo's for you
whenever you are near
goes - **** a doodle doo !!!!!,,,,,,,,

---------------------------------------------

Oh,­ for the snap shut skin
in the blue twang of youth
and to un-crack the spine
on the book of love.
now the gulping years
have flown away
we take sips of the night
and are spoon fed the day.

-----------------------------

Zeus made the Moose to be somewhat obtuse,
a big deer- rather queer- I fear.
then God gave him the nod to look funny and odd
the spitting image of you - my dear !!!

---------------------------------------

Knobbly Nobby.

Nobby has a great big nose
a great big nose has he,
and nobby knows
that his big nose,
is big, as big can be,
nobby has two knobbly knees
two knobbly knees has he,
his knobbly knees,
are as knobely
as knobbly knees can be,
don’t pity dear old nobby
for soon it’s plain to see,
that nobby has a great big ****
as big, as big as three !
now nobbys **** is knobly,
as knobly as a **** can be,
so nose and knee and ****
make three,
and we - are ****- ely.

----------------------------------

The Woman that wouldn't eat meat,
had reeaally, reeaally big feet,
her **** was as big as an hermaphrodite brig
and her **** were as hard as concrete….


--------------------------------

Hearken the clarion call of the crows
afore the snow-
they caw,
hey, get your **** into gear lads-
we gotta feckin go !!!

-----------------------------

Gods pad

I took a peek within
your house
wherein on pew, I spied
a mouse,
and in his hand,
a Bible clasped,
and out his mouth,
a parable rasped,

---------------------

I'd say she had
a pigeon loft in
her eyes and
bluebells up
her nose.

But then again
I wear a flat cap

and stroll through meadows.

----------------------------

Would you care to buy our house?
It's minus Mouse n devoid o' Louse,!
Spiders, Roaches, Bugs or other,
have all been eaten by my brother,
snaffled up n swallowed down
then jus' crapped out a - yellowish brown.
so would you care to buy our house?
from an oddly pair -- devoid of nous

-------------------------

Though the Crows got her eyes
and the Worms got her gut.
comes as no surprise
death can't keep her mouth shut.

-------------------

Bevelled slick edges
and reeaal eeaasy slopes.
Chilli dip wedges
with fresh artichokes.
Wanton loose wenches
and swivel hipped ******
Daft dawgs and dentures
and granddad - who snores.

-------------------

Been whittling away at a buoyant ****
and fashioned something approximating a canoe,
in it, I intend to surf the **** tsunami of old age;
I named it, "Public service pension"

-------------------------------

.
Well,
     I could wax on the wings of a butterfly
but, I ain't that kind o' guy.
rather kick the nuts off ******* squirrels
pluck the wings off - blue assed fly.
I'm the stuff that flops off dog chops
when he's up for it and high.
an infection in your sphincter,
a well
that's jus' run dry.

----------------------------------------------

befeathered­ and bright scarlet
is my ladies bonnet,
jauntily askew and -
lilting on a paramours
grin.

"- Gladlaughffi -"

I'm reliably informed that dear ol' Muma
sported a goatee around his **** sphincter,
now, whilst this is merely educated speculation
from my esteemed friend his "groom of the stool" ! 
who was in fact required to wear a mask,
ear muffs and a blindfold whilst he went about his business,
He did possess reeaaally sensitive fingertips
somewhat akin to a blind man reading brail,,
and, swore blind that said "**** sphincter' spoke him in Arabic
and asked him for a quick trim, (short back and sides)
I myself being a practising proctologist of some repute
am inclined to believe my friend the "groom of the stool"
as I've come recognise -- Arsolian when I hear it !!!!!!!!
-------------------------------------

In a Belfast sink by the plughole
where hair and gum gunk meet
'erman the germ-man  and toe jam
bop the bacillus beat.

________

Doctor this I know as fact
that I have a blocked digestive tract,
I'm all bunged up and cannot go
my trump and pump is - somewhat slow.
I need unction jollop for junction wallop
some sorta lotion to give me motion.
If you could please just ease my wheeze
then I needn't grunt and push and squeeze.

-----------------------------

They are breaking out the thwacking sticks
and sparking Godly clogs
pulling tongues through narrowed lips
at the infidel yankee dogs.

------------------------------------

As a paid up member of the
lumpen bourgeoisie poetry appreciation society
I can confirm without fear of contradiction
that poetry is indeed baggy underwear
with ample ball room, voluminous in the extreme
and takes into account
the need for the free flow of flatulent gassiness
that is the want of a ****** up poet.

-----------------------------------------------

She's a rough hewn Trapezoidal gal
a gongoozler o' the ol' canal.
She's copper bottomed n fly boat Sal.

I'll have thee know that
that there hat
is a magic hat,
it renders me invisible
to the arty intelligentsia
and roots me firmly
in the lumpen proletariat .
-------------------------------------------------------
Said the sneaky Scotsman, Jim Blaik.
if the pension, you wish to partake,
bend over my son, lets get this thing done
and cop for this thick trouser snake !!

I met my uncle Albert,
down at Asda, in aisle three;
he got there in a Mazda,
jus' a smidgen after me,
said he'd traversed Sainsburys,
Tesco Liddle n the Spar,
but not one o' them flogged Caviar
Truffles or Foie gras.


He sidled past the pork pies
streaky bacon turkey thighs
a headin for the french fries
n forsaken knock down buys,
shimmied 'round the ankle biters;
expectant mums to be,
popin pills for bloated ills
in the haberdashery.

Fandango'd o'er the cornflakes
and the spillage in isle four

-----------------

I'm linier and analogue,
a ribbon microphone man
mired in the dust of the monochromatic,
the basement, the attic.

------------------------------

Simple simon met miss Tymon going to the fair,
said simple simon to miss Tymon - "pfhwarr what a luverly pair"
of silken thighs and big brown eyes and scrumptious wobbly bits,
Said simple Simon to miss Tymon---------- shame about you **** !!!

So sad sweet Shirl thought she'd give a whirl to clubbercise n pound

Squat, slightly,
tilt head 45°
and squint.
See the shimmering blurry
dot in the distance?
That, timorous ****,
is ME !
Fast twitching my
narrow white ****
to the pub.

There was a young lady named Sue.
whose ***** and **** was askew,
whilst taking a ****
she'd aim it and miss
and she lifted 'er hat when she blew.


Oh Mon Dieu !!

Obi.

I feel decompressed and lethargic,
as I continue scrolling through my online soul only to see a kind-hearted person now nostalgic.

Why can't we all feel the same?

Why does the world seem to be aflame?

It's because we all try to accomplish being perfect,
and when we spot "convicts" we don't even detect we inflict neglect.

The thought of unity is fading away as is the hippie way,
a late anniversary bouquet whittling away,
a smoking cigarette left around the ashtray, dying this midsummers day.

Why is this thought so crazy anyway?

The change starts internally,
and can only be finished by an honest community,
one where we can all live with our acquired mental immunity.

Finally, peace sets within our unity.

I don't know why I find death so enthralling;
Or the calling of culled nullified angels more charming than alarming
Salutations to an array of all things macabre and flooding the streets with tidal waves of shock

The blood in your veins
was already cold as ice anyway
before draining away in the embalming process
Your entrails always showed
the manner in which you vested with finesse;
Enthroned in a tomb of frozen snow

Hell burns frigid and unremissive
Your every thought - piercing incisions
While I puzzle together these pieces of the grander picture
The polarity of her stigmatic enigma
Demeanor meandering to and fro
Gandering to pander every whim
Throwing glances left and right
At each of my fellow gentlemen

Rays of light cast from the windows
Outlining my silhouette in the shadows
Low moans bellow in a tour de force
As I peer through your soul
You have but a split second
So spit or swallow,
and choke back your tears
As I bring your worst fears to life

Hell hath no fury like mine reckoning
My discourse beckoning;                              
Imperiously        
imperiling
         and deafening

Channel these demons -
Screams echoing in melodic discord
Face stoic, in lieu of remorse
Wallowing in the shallows and wailing for recourse
The *****'s lament holds no candle;

From the summit,
without substance -
She plummets
in shambles
At free fall speed
she meets the grounds embrace;
but it breaks away

Calm before the storm
Then once more your life flashes
As you reach for the light
hiding in the tunnel's flip-side
Only to realize its not of the Heavens
But a raging Inferno

Neural impulses spiderweb across time
Each one precisely in line; memories -
Absence of your vindication aligned hand in hand
with every secret you buried in the sands

O'er the new rage
Of the golden age noir
Compulsively laying without delay
Fashioned like it's going out of style
"Now **** me something vile -
M a s t e r  r a c o n t e u r"
Make my trials worthwhile
Purveyor of *******
Undeterrable provocateur;

Inclined to bide my time while finding the finer aspects of slaughtering swine
Her squeals, reminiscent
lulling me to unconsciousness
Forever more I remain in denial
Whittling ever closer to nihility
While begging assuaging intoxication to ease my conscience

In the blink of an eye;
Destiny manifest is slathered in spattered inklings of splattered blood red
On a platter shall I present her head
A trophy for my sempiternal Lord of the dead

Preface

(not even 9:00 am and
I've wet myself

this was my to be
my Poet Palm Sunday,
when my pen is in
some room,
by other's well hidden,
and composition is a prohibition,
the hours yet to come,
come negligently but happily,
whiled and whittled,
reading the better poetry of others,
on this, a day of rest for the
body's satisfaction
and the body of the soul's,
even greater

yet a day of rest,
be not South Pole opposite
from a day of no North Pole work

this early I-am-risen Sunday dawn,
finds me focused, two dog ears alert,
forty one poems in descending order,
read and wept over and upon,
a real, not a faux Bush,
"mission accomplished"

lived long and occasionally prospered,
of poets, I am familiar some,
of writing poetry,
have learned my sums,
know what is likeable
love what is
loving and loveable

it is the poetry of every day life

of strange noises of strangers
in the mid of night,
dogs rhythmically snoring,
while you curse/overcome
the bright eyed, darkened alertness of insomnia
by word whittling yourself,
by the softness of skin of a grand kid
that momentarily manages to convince,
it was indeed,
all worth it

the zoo animals of the lawn and trees,
singing concertos in any minor they please,
as long as it's major enough
to command the world's attention

six stanzas and yet have not commenced,
the task God gave me this sabbath morn,
for the problem with seeing the world,
thru the filter of aging eyes,
is you grow vulnerable, wistful,
distracted by your own ancient feeling streams
that lie too deep in the Manhattan schist
of what others call, your heart,
but somehow still manage
to bubble up and geyser out your eyes)

~~~

Joe Cottonwood

as Patton said to Rommel,
"I've read your book"

the book of forty one poems
that are the products of
years in the making, with tools
that hang upon the belt of yourself,
that you acquired long before
the leathered and weathered
tool belt of four decades of you daily dress,
was first ever worn

you tell us of your ancestry,
thus reveal your story simple intimate,
and by the fourth or fifth essay,
our poetic ancestor,
Walt Whitman,
was readily apparent,
in the little life things
the American and all families  
celebrate

of my six decades,
I yet
still struggle for a summary definition
of who I am,
what I'm worth,
yet weep at your simple eloquence,
self described scribe and man
detailing a life well lived

Hammer nails. Write poems. Bake bread. Shake hands.

is that all there is?
Oh god there are veins
in this poet run deeper than the
iron ore that makes his nails,
the sun ray mines that electric heat
his bread oven

they are mined by me this morning

he does not write of
anguish, blood, love or scars,
that are newly born on a
summer's day youthful blush,
no, he writes of
anguish, blood, love or scars
that humans accumulate,
and in poetry encapsulate
of a life very well lived

I know you Joe,
and apologize for the
paucity of mine,
in honoring yours...

~~~
Postface**

the coffee beans grinding,
the pots banging,
the music suddenly turned softer,
surely constellation cosmic signs
that a lover's breakfast soon to arrive

so I away, but in earnest plead,
share the simple joyousness
of his poetry,
and our communal Sunday
and everyday lives
will be indeed come
as a day of comfort blessed,
the only toil,
tear removal...

knowledge awaits is the ticket
they sell you as you pass through
the pearly gates of higher learning
with textbook in hand you pray
that the dream you have isn't as much of
a work of fiction as the history they teach
with your college bound girl
her vanity lay in her turtle frame glasses
she hides behind the foggy lenses of her
casual drugs and meaningful ****** episodes
she grasps the back of your letterman jacket
hoping that you are as surefooted as your propaganda speaks
as you follow the blinding path
of confusions principal and you think to yourself repeatedly
that the truth in the simplest explanation is the actually the most complex
because you make it that with
realizations and rationalizations
through the day to day whittling away
of what you really are
through lying to yourself that
if you stick it out with this false life
one more day it will all be better
that the relationship you are trapped in
will work with you
instead of making every day
an uphill battle to be heard
and loved without tears
sometimes look into her eyes and
see the endless road of escaping her past
and i think that i just want to stop running away
settle down
and be
just simply be
a father, a husband, a lover
happy