"brum" poems
I am waiting for a twenty two.
Two eleven's have past but they will not do
from Piccadilly to Putney
home in time for ham,cheese and chutney
and here it comes.
Humming along brum brum brum
get on the bus
swipe the card
not too hard
taking a seat take the weight of my feet
and in the air from up the stairs the smell of food
someone is chewing on chicken
******* on bones
the women in front are gabbling in phones
and the child behind cries
I've dropped my fries
then an old lady slips on these crispy fried chips
and the bus comes to a halt.
The driver jumps up
screaming this isn't my fault.
Not my day at all
just wanted to get home with no smell of chicken
no phones in my face
but now I'm stuck in the bus
face to face
with the realisation that Putney and ham with cheese and Chutney
is slipping away.
No
not my day at all.
May 19, 2013
May 19, 2013 at 2:37 AM UTC
----------------
There was a young man from Bilbao
Who swallowed a book somehow
Can you suggest
How to digest
The thoughts of Chairman Mao?
------------------
There is a man not far from here
Who had a rather novel idea
To write a book
So a pen he took
And lo it did appear
--------------------
There was a young man from Brum
Who felt a book in his tum
He had it removed
Which just goes to prove
There's a book in everyone
-------------------
As a young man
I felt that I must
Write a long book
about love and lust
A publisher read it
Then promptly did shred it
And told me to go drive a bus
---------------------
Nov 14, 2014
Nov 14, 2014 at 4:40 PM UTC
down by the brum dimwiddy
where we got all giddy
sat the massive planq
with god awful stank
her shimmy playzit soloose
situation diffuse
we beg fumdilly
witout seeming chilly
she unfastened minert
couldi squirt
undoubted nixnot
from within it shot
hrmfff okydoke
andwe smoke
Jun 15, 2015
Jun 15, 2015 at 5:22 PM UTC
Lying in bed, I shift my vehicle
into new day. A day that is blessed
by rising sun.
Feet become wheels, spinning in dance gracefully.
Skin is cleansed in carwash-like shower
that tickles to birth smile.
Moments captured in suns rays vibrate,
as gyrating beams flicker
and penetrate cells.
Air infused intentions
rise in thoughts expanding
to merge with gas-like breath.
Blessings surface, as guidance
from navigational system of heart
purrs, gracefully.
Brum, *** echoes,
merging with days landscape,
as dance commences.
Brum, *** fills air
as compassion toward others
becomes goal.
In instant, hands folded
on steering wheel of prayer
anchor, as gratitude fills thoughts.
As wind pervades senses
and birds sing on welcome mat
of ears woven by hair.
The day has begun in celebration,
while cruse controlled movements
connect to surroundings.
While alignment is made
to source as freedom bell rings
inside waking hours.
I’m blessed, ready to shift gears
inside unlimited possibilities
on highway of life.
Blessed to rondevu with light
for peace, while fuel of love energies
congeal with purpose.
Purpose to make the best
of the gift of life given
in a vehicle anointed by God.
Oct 6, 2018
Oct 6, 2018 at 9:31 AM UTC
*** yir ******* skids outta
m'ah 'uckin feece!
god i love that place,
glasgow is like birmingham
of the north...
a rotten scow to nowhere,
unless it be a place that
spoke: deep-fried mars bar
for breakfast -
you scurvy worth of
the tangled sailor! ****
gods took to the twallop,
and i takes me to the
rool ups!
got a bargain with a shrimp
you belfast *****
my **** you 'av!
next time they sing: sweet dover,
i'll have you marrying the *****
cult of: shard!
ye storm ah heed!
**** me an' timber twice:
V fooking eye of ye, hire-crane!
******** twice,
three times removed
the drunk... huh?!
it's all plus minus with me by
now...
ha ha!
had a cousin, didn't say why,
cursed & numbed the cuss words
like a nun ought to know why...
so i says me:
lingua the leash - earn the ir -
softspot for the tucker-jacks
and the irish lepers: shauns they
called them...
he he...
look at me:
all smug and waiting
for brussel sprouts out the paan tree...
what's with these wallaby terms?
panchree? panna quinoa, panna cotta?
******* as clingy as those pepsoowongs,
or wangs or pepsoos.
as the english queers say
F F Θ, but then pull out a churchill -
and vey v girman vey such & such...
they and way become indistinguishable -
churchie and the welsh abbey become
one and the same with either V
as "peace", or the V and the welsh
longbowmen **** you...
v'eh point... wayward: too soon...
vuck!
wook?
wookie?
va va voom!
woonder-brum, brimming,
bra bra bra... ha ha ha...
dried it all off with the giggles...
then it became apparent:
the man settled for the dozen,
whether it was a dozen of ostriches,
hyenas,
bunches of lychee,
leaks,
bulgarian strippers -
or worse...
a dozen of english rhetoricians,
notably gay;
**** what a gamble.
Sep 21, 2017
Sep 21, 2017 at 10:38 PM UTC
She does not perorate to him, fear fills her mind & croor why?...it is unknown but everytime their eyes meet her child skips a brum beat, her paunch gets overwrought in his presence, her soul longs for his aid, her child longs for his amiability, her oculus longs for his oculus to domineerin' hers, her frame longs for his predilection, her hand longs for his...but winter rests long & stubbornly between them she serenades for him but he evades her serenades she falls on her knees & weeps & ensecure herself like a tranchula does.
Weeks feel like months somber is her new lust partner, her life companion & their child is the one that loafs in her ******* tucked away, unpoisonous. Her child is what keeps the muted predecessor alive & what made her so stonewall & untrustin' bourgeois to emancipate her & her child...the muted predecessor & her child have been indignant to many times & she isn't contingentin' never more, mother grows enervated & distended from the correlations she went through & the many bourgeois her child has met & adored deeply & who it has played with & now predecessor & progeny are aghast to amity & entrust anyone they meet...
Nov 21, 2018
Nov 21, 2018 at 9:45 PM UTC