There is a perfect angle
at which the bottom
of the left *** meets the
rib cage of your woman and its
the square root of two.

Adolf n his nice tight ***

gonna get me a pair o' lederhosen
the kind adolf used to wear;
not the attire the missus woulda chosen
they're sorta ***** - to be fair,
but they made his ***** look massive
n they made his *** look taut
we all know the guy weren't passive
n did things he shouldn'ta ought,
I bet ya missus ****** loved him
when his **** hung out one side,
and as for bombin london,
well -- we'll let that ****** slide;
coz the guy he sure were stylish
in his liddle leather shorts,
goose steppin all the while-ish
with his gusset - and - supports,,,


alan nettleton.

"- A Godly leg up -"

The day will come
when I will die
of this I can be sure,
stick my body in the ground
let it ripen and mature,
just in case I’ve got this wrong
and in heaven God I’ll meet,
I’ll prostrate myself,
kiss her ***,
and worship at her feet.

In Alarias eyes lies
a roast lamb mountain;

in a sea of the worlds - bestest gravy.

Forsooth, this *** of thine, so pert and tight
and Denim clad, orbs of wanton desire
that gadded man did wrest folly, and smite
wretched fortitude with embolden'd fire
of lust. verily, a janus faced Goddess
temptress to the recklings of gawded cheeks.

Aching bones n bladder stones
are signs of gettin old,
missing teeth n droopin beef
two more,, or so i'm told.

Hairy backs n saggy sacks
afflictions of old men,
havin rants n ****** pants
happen now n then,

My gut is sagging more n more
it's dragging on the floor,
my ******* are banging on my knees
my armpits smell like cheese,

My teeth they sleep within a glass
upon my bedside table,
and as for giving girls a thrill
I find I’m quite unable,

She's left all disappointed,
with a grimace and a frown,
all because my pecker,,,
stays soft and pointing down,

But don't think that I’m unhappy
after everything I said,
I intend to laugh my **** off
coz I’ll soon be feckin dead,

A slice o’ pie

ya cut me a slice 'o yer liljeeezus pie,
a religious high, - "oh my oh my,"
ya pour me jug, o' yer godly whine,
inebriation fer the disinclined,
ya sugar it, with sweet salvation
roast me 'bout my masurbation,
cream it off with liberation --
all ya needs my soul donation,
but I'll not eat yer pie - yer religious lie,
'bout some meta -- weelllll -- sss-super guy,

Alan nettleton.

A Pox ! a Pox !
upon the man
that flogged my wife
this camper van,
and told her please don't
worry dear
that damp patch here
is nothing queer,
it's merely steam
and condensate
that's dripping on your
empty pate...

Biggin it up fer jesus,

When a gilded man with pearly whites
came a knockin on ma’ door
said; " hey there bro,
d'ya care to know what this
ere book is for,
well, 'taint for puttin on display
or keepin vampire teeth at bay
oh no bro no bro, not today;
come listen what the good book say."

now he sure looked pretty in his stay press suit
n Vaseline slick back hair,
with his easy style n godly guile
was biggin up his good lord’s prayer,
but fragrant molasses made up myths;
man that ain't ma thing.
I'm a sixties child whoo that's wild,
I'm a ****** up ding a ling.

I got Dylan flowin through ma veins
Martin luther in ma gut,
so I need no ancient prophet claims,
-- n god can kiss ma ****.

Billy (Bowb) joe

There ain't nothin new in hell tonight
cept the soul o' billy joe,
who killed a man in an unfair fight
so gabe sent him below,
he used a blade on an unarmed guy;
and a stand up guy to boot,
now his *** will fry he's said g'bye  
coz to hell he is en route,
now beelzebub has got an itch
so bad that it needs scratchin
he takes billy joe as his new *****
n disease he is a catchin,
bill's boiled in oil n flash fried with rice
n he’s marinade in gin,
coz beelzebub well he ain't that nice
he’s gonna Chew on liddle him,
but Billy joe’s a repentant soul
feelin mighty fine n righteous,
bill has gotta goal gonna take his toll
n  give nick gastroenteritis

alan nettleton.

She blew in as a broiling wind
chocka with sharp sanded beauty
and scythed the jelly of the eyes.

Today my friend stopped
--- being.
there he was --
then he wasn't.
----- being that is.

alan nettleton.

Cerebral woman,,,,,,,,,,, 'I'm a judge jail Mee

she's a technicoloured melodrama
fringed in pink
a loony tune character
penned in indian ink,
she's positive and poignant  
blessed with perfect poise
my snake wrangling lady-
she's one o' the boys.
she's a synaptical **** siren
and rather refined
a whoreatical kinda woman;
that ***** with my mind,
she's passionate and pendulous
immersed in deep thought
my minds mary's monster
my cerebral - consort,

alan nettleton.

“ Crow “

Whatcha stearin at ye scrawny bird
Ah’ll  draped in black en
wi  malachite  eyes,
Whitcha  Feathers in tatters
ah’ll covered  in crud
Hoppin en skippin en lookin so wise,

Whydja  squawk et  mi in that orible  way,
Whydja  caw en caw en  caw  et mi
Ahs’tha  reely  got  summat to say
Ah’stha  reely  got  summat  to  say,

GEERCHA yer self  bak up in’te  sky
En leave mi alone wi  mi beer,
If  ye  stay round ere  
yel end up  dead
yon   fox  el  av  yer i fear,
yon   fox  el  av  yer i  fear
so leave mi alone  wi  mi  beer.

Alan nettleton......... + bottle n arf o' whine...

Wherever I go
goes Impetigo,
yeah yeah- I know-

I shoulda named him Fido !!

Daves squeeze.

Waayyy below Mozart
n closer to a doggy ****;
she's in painted toe nails
of poodle dawgs;
in colonic irrigation
of a plastic tummy tucked clone,
she's contemporaneous
with minuscule ****
has extraneous fat Dyson'd
cyclonic Mike Tyson'd
and a crows foot is botoxed
- to *** **** ******* death.....death.

so am I wrong to like James Blunt.
am I wrong to like James Blunt.

she's cut n paste n drug n dropped
last seasons face has up n flopped
am I - am I - am I wrong;
--- to like James Blunt.

she sings sour songs in
cavernous bathrooms
with a badly strung violin voice
but smiles the smile of the fuckyoualls
I'malrightjacks,,,

Am I wrong..to.

Dear Gawd......I wanna be Pope..

I never ride backwards
on train or bus,
I never profane,
blaspheme or cuss,
I'm limpid,
riven of diaphanous stuff
never been given,
to a female ****.
I'm penitent, contrite –
shriven of sin,
compliant, reliant,
I'm bendy n thin.
not quite castrato,
gives good vibrato
to choirboys mullato
with bellybutton fluff.

Dodo pie

***** the elephants -- **** em-
gimmi the ivo-ry
and ******* to the rhinos-
I need the horn fer me,
what's with this **** 'bout the
fishes, - n over fishin the sea,
slap the ******* on dishes-
coz I'm ****** ***-gry.

Alan nettleton.

Take it eeaasy Alex Brown;
's time to - slow down,
- time to do all the things
borne on the wings of
- wellll:
lucidity.
where reciprocity meets
on the junction of streets;
n the sign posts says-
- yeah,
ALL - you's - can - eats..
Take it eeaassyy - alex Brown.

There is a brilliance
in the darkness-
that only the blind
will see.

There is a symphony
in the silence-

A heaven - for me.

We are but a breeze
amidst a storm at sea,

This precarious spark,
We-- humanity.

I am;
Partly shiny but mostly dull,
kinda Bo Peep-ish,
I'm into wool.

I'm an errant bent penny of
dubious worth,
a fickle little tickle
on the funny bone o' mirth.

I am
Tapioca pudding after
Chicken coq au vin.
And I am
an iamb
a gestalt of a man.

Nine a,m.
- an old suit case
- and blue arsed flies.

Read old news again today,
poverty is dead -
or so they say,
a three ring circus
came to play,
when Maggie snatched -
our milk away.

Watched
three Blue arsed flies
doing the Indy 500
'round my light bulb,

drank coffee - minus milk.

I grew
me a melle tree
and fought violently
with it's leaves whilst it's roots
surreptitiously sated on my belief.
()
()
()
()
()
(())
((()))

For my Sweetness.


Are you the air-
the breeze that answers the questioning sun

are you the fire-
the flame begot of the spark.

are you the earth-
where mankind rest redundant bones

you are my waters that quench life’s
great unknowns.

Alan nettleton.

Gleaning of the Owl.

Gimbal eyed and shrugged
on Oaken bough
before the bluffing of the Crow
before Rook caw and Raven croak
before the shriven threaded dawn-

to glean a silent measure.-
thrawn.

Bones
make reeaal
goood soup

dig mine up when
I'm done with 'em.

Gathering silence
in mustering of the dark-
hollow beats the heart.

When dh'a reaper come a
knockin on ma’h door
tell him a'h gone to bogator,
if he want ma’h ***,
he'll have to wait,
a'h goda liddle more life
to satiate,
A’h sold ma’h soul
to be-el-zebub
for a cute liddle ***
an' a tummy rub,
So a'h guess ah’ll be
a headin d udder way
an' widda old nicks ******
ah'ma gonna play,

Now be-el-zebub said to me dat time
" sign dis boy your *** be mine, !!"
a’h know dis now, a’hn a’h knew dat den,
he purloined ma’h soul whidda fountain pen,
so lawd oh lawd please hear m'ah plea
take pity m'ah lawd on poor auld me,
deliver m'ah soul to da' place above
n tell be-el-zebub dat' he can shove !!