MoBoone - Hello Poetry

frying plantains in Tanzania with rice - so much rice ageing postmen with bus passes and metal knees carrying keisters of it a thousand different ways slow walkers married, always frittering away chances or just connected, with the mortal coils of the market? big coat on in the Kalahari your scorpions absent from the guest list, exiled. the brown bears caged, but should things have really. come to this? fierce heat. fizzing geysers rumpled by grey fluorescent lights and plagued, by the speeding steam trains of their past that took them to SO MANY GREAT PLACES but they only recall the endings. the crashing off the tracks, the unexpected landslides revolve navigate the ridge and don’t funk from looking down. it is better this way. stamp the scorpions in. £5 on the door. take the free round and dance around their nimbus because even though you WILL NEVER know them, you would NOT BE HERE. without them. your corner patch a feral patch given over to woodworms and weeds but a patch without chains, shaded by roses suffering a kind of pressure you will never understand. the naan breads arrived 40 minutes early and ruined your bath but WHAT A PRIZE. to exist in a rainforest where naan breads are possible. and ferns unfurl, then hang, and rise again. frying plantains in Tanzania slow married women bearing grain carry your cactuses out into the sun. feed them. watch them. be naked with your scorpions and really feel the football finals the canal gates the shooting stars, zooming by through the windows of the train.

0

Sep 28, 2020

Sep 28, 2020 at 3:03 PM UTC

frying plantains in Tanzania

frying plantains in Tanzania with rice - so much rice ageing postmen with bus passes and metal knees carrying keisters of it a thousand different ways slow walkers married, always frittering away chances or just connected, with the mortal coils of the market? big coat on in the Kalahari your scorpions absent from the guest list, exiled. the brown bears caged, but should things have really. come to this? fierce heat. fizzing geysers rumpled by grey fluorescent lights and plagued, by the speeding steam trains of their past that took them to SO MANY GREAT PLACES but they only recall the endings. the crashing off the tracks, the unexpected landslides revolve navigate the ridge and don’t funk from looking down. it is better this way. stamp the scorpions in. £5 on the door. take the free round and dance around their nimbus because even though you WILL NEVER know them, you would NOT BE HERE. without them. your corner patch a feral patch given over to woodworms and weeds but a patch without chains, shaded by roses suffering a kind of pressure you will never understand. the naan breads arrived 40 minutes early and ruined your bath but WHAT A PRIZE. to exist in a rainforest where naan breads are possible. and ferns unfurl, then hang, and rise again. frying plantains in Tanzania slow married women bearing grain carry your cactuses out into the sun. feed them. watch them. be naked with your scorpions and really feel the football finals the canal gates the shooting stars, zooming by through the windows of the train.

56

a two tonne viking frying taco shells thinking he’s Louis Zamperini a cracked slate roof leaking acid rain onto photo books of artists who have dark minds and black eyes and lips made of pewter and are brilliant, because they are troubled. tiny Mexican rabbits ******* on fresh bedding and snowboarding with packs of salted butter on the new screed floor. The Spider. mushrooming her web around every crack on your hands spitting marmite drinking bitter bitter tea and ******* on The Vikings’ **** like it were a Tarocco orange. bank loans RSJ’s a plague of aphids and diesel, so much diesel but jellied. no glow. the lime between the bricks bearing this system are oppressed, and mouldering. the foundations are screaming, yet RIGHT THERE at ground zero The Bonsai Tomato. tunnelling. a green Yuri Gagarin set out before the final frost and robbed, of his wings. stripped and proffered scuzz by a society run on injustice and pelf. yet, somehow. still sure. surrounded by the web but not tangled in it haunted at night by the blood orange but not jaundiced by it sea salt from a yellow grit bin. another Oxfam jacket for a funeral. six million blackouts painted by builders but The Bonsai Tomato is STILL. THERE. eyes set on the next bend. unshakeable. holding his own.

0

Sep 28, 2020

Sep 28, 2020 at 3:01 PM UTC

the bonsai tomato

a two tonne viking frying taco shells thinking he’s Louis Zamperini a cracked slate roof leaking acid rain onto photo books of artists who have dark minds and black eyes and lips made of pewter and are brilliant, because they are troubled. tiny Mexican rabbits ******* on fresh bedding and snowboarding with packs of salted butter on the new screed floor. The Spider. mushrooming her web around every crack on your hands spitting marmite drinking bitter bitter tea and ******* on The Vikings’ **** like it were a Tarocco orange. bank loans RSJ’s a plague of aphids and diesel, so much diesel but jellied. no glow. the lime between the bricks bearing this system are oppressed, and mouldering. the foundations are screaming, yet RIGHT THERE at ground zero The Bonsai Tomato. tunnelling. a green Yuri Gagarin set out before the final frost and robbed, of his wings. stripped and proffered scuzz by a society run on injustice and pelf. yet, somehow. still sure. surrounded by the web but not tangled in it haunted at night by the blood orange but not jaundiced by it sea salt from a yellow grit bin. another Oxfam jacket for a funeral. six million blackouts painted by builders but The Bonsai Tomato is STILL. THERE. eyes set on the next bend. unshakeable. holding his own.

49

6 sirens snoozed to the wind and a petrified banana burrowing down in the slow lane billowing blue smoke like white horses over a bombora accelerator airflow regulator out on his own zonked lopping around like a white flag stuck at half mast 3 weeks after the funeral smug green peppers and salt hung rabbits that have travelled and have seen things and know exactly, what you have done spray painted bees, howling window cleaner 10 jobs in and still using the same water Bill Clinton, £4 a week Yamata Yamata, no jacket Spanish ceramic pots that I told you are sensitive and **** THEMSELVES in the dishwasher ritual like sunday prayers or Chinese mushroom powder in the morning 4 of your 5 a day sounds impressive but when you start the day on MINUS 10 you spend the rest of it buying back lives duck soup Danish milkman’s left the bottle behind the bin where you will NEVER FIND IT tonight — blue moon last night — no moon wednesday — moon doing bad things in a capsized kayak at a full moon party on Zanzibar coat hanger for an aerial rocket launch to the ursa minor £3.49 bottom shelf all the answers you need for less than the price of a day-rider and then tomorrow bombay lentils bombay lentils bombay lentils, everywhere.

0

Sep 28, 2020

Sep 28, 2020 at 2:58 PM UTC

bombay lentils

6 sirens snoozed to the wind and a petrified banana burrowing down in the slow lane billowing blue smoke like white horses over a bombora accelerator airflow regulator out on his own zonked lopping around like a white flag stuck at half mast 3 weeks after the funeral smug green peppers and salt hung rabbits that have travelled and have seen things and know exactly, what you have done spray painted bees, howling window cleaner 10 jobs in and still using the same water Bill Clinton, £4 a week Yamata Yamata, no jacket Spanish ceramic pots that I told you are sensitive and **** THEMSELVES in the dishwasher ritual like sunday prayers or Chinese mushroom powder in the morning 4 of your 5 a day sounds impressive but when you start the day on MINUS 10 you spend the rest of it buying back lives duck soup Danish milkman’s left the bottle behind the bin where you will NEVER FIND IT tonight — blue moon last night — no moon wednesday — moon doing bad things in a capsized kayak at a full moon party on Zanzibar coat hanger for an aerial rocket launch to the ursa minor £3.49 bottom shelf all the answers you need for less than the price of a day-rider and then tomorrow bombay lentils bombay lentils bombay lentils, everywhere.

40

The Bear's Paw standing at the bottom of the hill guarded by psychedelic sandbags filling in the cracks opened by the daily pilgrimages of sheepdogs King Kong cries his battery acid caught with it's guard down on the wrong side of town bearded vultures, pecking his ears in the rain and his chin setting down a towel on a **** beach while people touch each other, everywhere Pol *** reeeeeeeeeeling. hundreds of millions of tiny microscopic parasites dancing in gaggles while a 140 year old dog lies dying, slowly steering his magic carpet through a stratus of lightly spiced sausages The Popo, all the gear but beached like blue whales on the wrong end of a tsunami lions have played backgammon for a thousand years around this watering hole so tell me why after so many famous moves would they get bored now? old man, with tobacco eyes and a homemade pool cue his dancing demons his own and his chin working from home you can't win them all but if you hit the ball with conviction you might just catch onto the coat tails of an incredible journey King Kong has been divorced 3 times and has never met his kids Daddy Kong packed a swimming pool with watermelon's when King Kong was merely a glint in the milkman's eye and told him that he would DANCE WITH PINK DOLPHINS because he was the fruit of the pangolins and that's what pangolins were born with the right to do tobacco eyes eyes the black the parasites swipe right, go on dinner dates, then give birth to 10 baby parasites in under a minute. the baby parasites grow hair, learn to ride bikes, travel the world, then settle down. sand-pit. wax roots. cheat. before you've even squinted to see the next train, thousands of great great grand-baby parasites are getting dressed up for their first day of school all in the time it takes for a pint of Guinness, to finish ******** ITSELF. LOVE, in every stain on the carpet a lifetime of 10/10 potatoes shirts, tucked in - just like it says on the rota stories of adventure and death traded in phone boxes with infinite shelves and shipping containers loaded with questions answers always the same - same **** mate different day, mate. The Bear's Paw standing at the bottom of the hill old wooden door wide open love stained carpets buttered to the edge with the marmalade of the free no King Kong's, no pangolins, no PINK DOLPHINS. just microscopic parasites and loyal sheepdogs who have travelled across a thousand fields sat waiting to bewitch you with their tales

0

Sep 28, 2020

Sep 28, 2020 at 2:49 PM UTC

The Bear's Paw

The Bear's Paw standing at the bottom of the hill guarded by psychedelic sandbags filling in the cracks opened by the daily pilgrimages of sheepdogs King Kong cries his battery acid caught with it's guard down on the wrong side of town bearded vultures, pecking his ears in the rain and his chin setting down a towel on a **** beach while people touch each other, everywhere Pol *** reeeeeeeeeeling. hundreds of millions of tiny microscopic parasites dancing in gaggles while a 140 year old dog lies dying, slowly steering his magic carpet through a stratus of lightly spiced sausages The Popo, all the gear but beached like blue whales on the wrong end of a tsunami lions have played backgammon for a thousand years around this watering hole so tell me why after so many famous moves would they get bored now? old man, with tobacco eyes and a homemade pool cue his dancing demons his own and his chin working from home you can't win them all but if you hit the ball with conviction you might just catch onto the coat tails of an incredible journey King Kong has been divorced 3 times and has never met his kids Daddy Kong packed a swimming pool with watermelon's when King Kong was merely a glint in the milkman's eye and told him that he would DANCE WITH PINK DOLPHINS because he was the fruit of the pangolins and that's what pangolins were born with the right to do tobacco eyes eyes the black the parasites swipe right, go on dinner dates, then give birth to 10 baby parasites in under a minute. the baby parasites grow hair, learn to ride bikes, travel the world, then settle down. sand-pit. wax roots. cheat. before you've even squinted to see the next train, thousands of great great grand-baby parasites are getting dressed up for their first day of school all in the time it takes for a pint of Guinness, to finish ******** ITSELF. LOVE, in every stain on the carpet a lifetime of 10/10 potatoes shirts, tucked in - just like it says on the rota stories of adventure and death traded in phone boxes with infinite shelves and shipping containers loaded with questions answers always the same - same **** mate different day, mate. The Bear's Paw standing at the bottom of the hill old wooden door wide open love stained carpets buttered to the edge with the marmalade of the free no King Kong's, no pangolins, no PINK DOLPHINS. just microscopic parasites and loyal sheepdogs who have travelled across a thousand fields sat waiting to bewitch you with their tales

59

a two tonne viking frying taco shells thinking he's Louis Zamperini a cracked slate roof leaking acid rain onto photo books of artists who have dark minds and black eyes and lips made of pewter and are brilliant, because they are troubled. tiny Mexican rabbits ******* on fresh bedding and snowboarding with packs of salted butter on the new screed floor. The Spider. mushrooming her web around every crack on your hands spitting marmite drinking bitter bitter tea and ******* on The Vikings' **** like it were a Tarocco orange. bank loans RSJ's a plague of aphids and diesel, so much diesel but jellied. no glow. the lime between the bricks bearing this system are oppressed, and mouldering. the foundations are screaming, yet RIGHT THERE at ground zero The Bonsai Tomato. tunnelling. a green Yuri Gargarin set out before the final frost and robbed, of his wings. stripped and proffered scuzz by a society run on injustice and pelf. yet, somehow. still sure. surrounded by the web but not tangled in it haunted at night by the blood orange but not jaundiced by it sea salt from a yellow grit bin. another Oxfam jacket for a funeral. six million blackouts painted by builders but The Bonsai Tomato is STILL. THERE. eyes set on the next bend. unshakeable. holding his own.

0

Sep 16, 2020

Sep 16, 2020 at 7:18 PM UTC

the bonsai tomato

a two tonne viking frying taco shells thinking he's Louis Zamperini a cracked slate roof leaking acid rain onto photo books of artists who have dark minds and black eyes and lips made of pewter and are brilliant, because they are troubled. tiny Mexican rabbits ******* on fresh bedding and snowboarding with packs of salted butter on the new screed floor. The Spider. mushrooming her web around every crack on your hands spitting marmite drinking bitter bitter tea and ******* on The Vikings' **** like it were a Tarocco orange. bank loans RSJ's a plague of aphids and diesel, so much diesel but jellied. no glow. the lime between the bricks bearing this system are oppressed, and mouldering. the foundations are screaming, yet RIGHT THERE at ground zero The Bonsai Tomato. tunnelling. a green Yuri Gargarin set out before the final frost and robbed, of his wings. stripped and proffered scuzz by a society run on injustice and pelf. yet, somehow. still sure. surrounded by the web but not tangled in it haunted at night by the blood orange but not jaundiced by it sea salt from a yellow grit bin. another Oxfam jacket for a funeral. six million blackouts painted by builders but The Bonsai Tomato is STILL. THERE. eyes set on the next bend. unshakeable. holding his own.

49

before the beginning a rogue preface an unwanted introduction throwing voodoo pins at a line drawing of your nervous system Yellowstone Etna Maybe a cargo train with square wheels but after, deliverance in presence… through the chess game of rocks the ambition of ferns the patience of streams Ghandi Brett from the allotment a stone wall leaning on the ropes of the ring open you're eyes, and you will see there through the mist beyond the pine trees over the sea casting for mackerel off the ken a thousand miles away but alive and growing in confidence starships. chances. a kind of light that you are content to not understand.

0

Sep 15, 2020

Sep 15, 2020 at 6:17 PM UTC

casting for mackerel off the ken

before the beginning a rogue preface an unwanted introduction throwing voodoo pins at a line drawing of your nervous system Yellowstone Etna Maybe a cargo train with square wheels but after, deliverance in presence… through the chess game of rocks the ambition of ferns the patience of streams Ghandi Brett from the allotment a stone wall leaning on the ropes of the ring open you're eyes, and you will see there through the mist beyond the pine trees over the sea casting for mackerel off the ken a thousand miles away but alive and growing in confidence starships. chances. a kind of light that you are content to not understand.

23

Tunguska smacks cold shoulders in the shower a turbine bunged with ducks clogged, docked a shaved chicken smashing through ice and his armbands at home, in the cabin labour without fruit is no labour at all and at the end an invader a hot sock by the fire dressed up as The Gestapo teasing along the trapeze with wild eyes on your flies a web within a web or Home, as you once called it. Dancing. at the heart of your engine management system Krakatoa is exploding but you don't have to understand it to survive it rise and fall rise and fall control. Wim Hof climed Mount Everest in shorts. the web glistens with the light of the dawn exist for the labour for the rights of the fruits we shall never. own. live for sea tornadoes for water buffalo for great white thunderstorms be open, always and know that no shaved chicken will ever be alone.

0

Sep 7, 2020

Sep 7, 2020 at 8:29 PM UTC

cold shower

Tunguska smacks cold shoulders in the shower a turbine bunged with ducks clogged, docked a shaved chicken smashing through ice and his armbands at home, in the cabin labour without fruit is no labour at all and at the end an invader a hot sock by the fire dressed up as The Gestapo teasing along the trapeze with wild eyes on your flies a web within a web or Home, as you once called it. Dancing. at the heart of your engine management system Krakatoa is exploding but you don't have to understand it to survive it rise and fall rise and fall control. Wim Hof climed Mount Everest in shorts. the web glistens with the light of the dawn exist for the labour for the rights of the fruits we shall never. own. live for sea tornadoes for water buffalo for great white thunderstorms be open, always and know that no shaved chicken will ever be alone.

30

tickling the rocks dancing around woodworms drinking tequila with dandelions the floor is no place for a young fern with ambition beanstalk said the big unfurling fern to the little unfurling fern beanstalk all the way to the ozonosphere if you endure and you harvest the best sunbeams and nitrogens and you cheat at quizzes you'll climb as high as that great rose and you'll be happy and strong and powerful but I am happy said the little unfurling fern to the big unfurling fern and I don't wish to be strong and powerful and that great rose I've heard is a real pig and he doesn't share his Easter eggs and he has no pride in his hedges and he plays bad music really loud on buses this floor is the floor but it is my world and I like the woodworms and the two leafed clovers who don't know their androecium's from their gynoecium's and the dandelion - well he drinks too much tequila but he has a strong heart and if the world was on fire and everything was lost he'd share his last mini eggs with all of us. it is true - that I am small but in my scrubby wisdom I know I know that it is better to stay down low among cheap friends and dance with ugly woodworms and tell stories to bluebells and play flute with the clovers than it is to grow tall and handsome and have only the spiteful rose for a friend and have to listen all day to ******* Morrissey. now there's a lad said the big unfurling fern to the little unfurling fern as the dandelion racked up the tequilas.

0

May 7, 2020

May 7, 2020 at 2:48 PM UTC

weeds

tickling the rocks dancing around woodworms drinking tequila with dandelions the floor is no place for a young fern with ambition beanstalk said the big unfurling fern to the little unfurling fern beanstalk all the way to the ozonosphere if you endure and you harvest the best sunbeams and nitrogens and you cheat at quizzes you'll climb as high as that great rose and you'll be happy and strong and powerful but I am happy said the little unfurling fern to the big unfurling fern and I don't wish to be strong and powerful and that great rose I've heard is a real pig and he doesn't share his Easter eggs and he has no pride in his hedges and he plays bad music really loud on buses this floor is the floor but it is my world and I like the woodworms and the two leafed clovers who don't know their androecium's from their gynoecium's and the dandelion - well he drinks too much tequila but he has a strong heart and if the world was on fire and everything was lost he'd share his last mini eggs with all of us. it is true - that I am small but in my scrubby wisdom I know I know that it is better to stay down low among cheap friends and dance with ugly woodworms and tell stories to bluebells and play flute with the clovers than it is to grow tall and handsome and have only the spiteful rose for a friend and have to listen all day to ******* Morrissey. now there's a lad said the big unfurling fern to the little unfurling fern as the dandelion racked up the tequilas.

58

massacring a lindt bunny into pieces with a rolling pin and passing him around frying black peppercorns - laura's cooking and embers still glowing in the morning grandparents, grandchildren buckets and buckets and buckets of tadpoles and cold, cold pillows all actors in my saga of drunken webs and 400 year old trees like an unfurling fern taking heed of its surroundings guarded but bold a cracking egg an old person driving a mobility scooter on a busy road settling into ways slowly growing wings each hour of each day and each day of each week i'm inching. forward. creeping, grasping, reaching, toward that new beginning for i am convinced that in this here and now there is NO place. for the end.

0

Apr 29, 2020

Apr 29, 2020 at 11:08 AM UTC

ferns

massacring a lindt bunny into pieces with a rolling pin and passing him around frying black peppercorns - laura's cooking and embers still glowing in the morning grandparents, grandchildren buckets and buckets and buckets of tadpoles and cold, cold pillows all actors in my saga of drunken webs and 400 year old trees like an unfurling fern taking heed of its surroundings guarded but bold a cracking egg an old person driving a mobility scooter on a busy road settling into ways slowly growing wings each hour of each day and each day of each week i'm inching. forward. creeping, grasping, reaching, toward that new beginning for i am convinced that in this here and now there is NO place. for the end.

38

ear to the tracks the throb of another ghost train an answer screaming hissing a pantomime snake slithering along a trapeze in a costume of the question Sophia Loren an invasion closing in with an army of drowned sardines it may go around or its cargo could be small and not that dangerous but that risk is for the passing of a comet a great injunction or the birth of a new universe with more empty seats on its buses call it back back to the canneries tomorrow is a new day with moon beams and ships bouncing with chances but today is today and the snake has started drinking.

0

Apr 25, 2020

Apr 25, 2020 at 8:36 AM UTC

moon beams

ear to the tracks the throb of another ghost train an answer screaming hissing a pantomime snake slithering along a trapeze in a costume of the question Sophia Loren an invasion closing in with an army of drowned sardines it may go around or its cargo could be small and not that dangerous but that risk is for the passing of a comet a great injunction or the birth of a new universe with more empty seats on its buses call it back back to the canneries tomorrow is a new day with moon beams and ships bouncing with chances but today is today and the snake has started drinking.

25