Willow trees make me happy
I have them clocked
Two on my journey
I am begrudging if I forget to look
There's one in St Beaudox
Another closer into town
I sit up and watch them go by
They deliver me a smile
And as I pass them I recall the sensation of the slender bendy bark and leaf
The shade and feel of passing on my boaty beneath
And on this bus I realise
Five days a week
That I miss the waterways
The river and canal
I miss my boat, my water gypsy life
My heart is not happy
Without weeping willows

The solice cracked like a whip
Through my speckless squint
I see them coming,
& stomp the other way.
Across the lake I hear them,
high pitched screams of play.
Sounds your not adapted to
If you went another way.
And as I walk it dawns on me,
The canal is never mine alone
And it's the holidays.

Yer puddle of *****
Sqitty and not right
Always the same MO
Just off the towpath
Though still in sight
Always a puddle
Bog roll beside
The doggies go to gobble it up
Boke, sick, its feckin rough
Such a tiny bit of tissue
Never seems enough
You need a doctor
To figure out your guts
I hope you got stung
On your flap or your nuts.

I'm full I tell you!
Constipated by the human race
The brain ****
Won't work
In the face of your face

A verbose stream of nonsense
That needs the walls ears alone
To ***** up the word stew
Regurgitate the bones.

The words dry up
And so do I
The thing is processed
With a relieving sigh.

Wrote it out and letters flowed
Under a shelf the crows did crow
By the lamp in the corner of the room
The plug sockets begain to whisper of doom
The kithen sink had been overthrown
The tap had decided on an absolute no
The plasterbord cursed and swore
As the carpets crawled across the floor
The lightbulb had committed suicide
The mirror discusted, could not abide
The wok was angry nothing was made
The milk was off but still in date
The cheese had crept
grown hairy and wet
The candle sang a sweet pure glow
The coffie table enjoyed the tiny solo
The couch sighed deep
The shoes prayed for feet
The saving foam lay quiet and wept
The razor blades denyed regret
The freezer buzzed with cheep delight
The candle lost the ability of sight
The radiators were sly with cold
The tins of soup felt wrinkled and old
The wooden spoon was burned then sold
A new black sock went grey with shock
The skirting bords pointed & mocked
As a toothbrush choked and twisted and coughed
The eggs were angry
The spoons were not
And when it hit tweve?
The clock just stopped.

I don't want the man from Panama
I am happy he has a good life
I don't want his romance
That is for his wife

I don't want his strong hands
They are to steady his child
I don't want his warm embrace
A clasp that would defile

I don't want his **** bits
I look the other way
I don't want his daily bread
The humdrum of his day

I don't want the man from Panama
I just want to talk with his brain
He is the only conducter I've found
On the same frequency as my insane

I've lost all my pens again
I can only find blunt pencil
Blunt pencil seems so insincere
So easily erased