wink twiddlers and tiddly winkers
slinking drinkers
in summer linger
loveluscious men hungry *******

those ladies are so
and dirtygorgeous loveless
twaddle with irate squirming
*******

by docks and alley backways
nestled dankness warmly
coils moist pools of
amberest light

in them drinks painful women
things incommensurable
uninnocent girl parts
prattle **** pieces

but some got pretty fast hot skin
belching from the hot music
coffins in short little
skirts covered *****
barley

The gardener
This is my garden; my apple tree
has over-reached itself.  The branches,
weighed down with fruit, threaten to break.
If I had read the signs, thinned out when it was time,
the crop would be less heavy, the fruit less small.
And what there is, is damaged.  If it’s not birds
it’s caterpillar, wasp, or earwig.
It will all be rotten soon.  I don’t know why I bother.

The blackbird
This is my garden; this tree I sat in
and proclaimed my own when it was full of blossom
with war-cry love-call song.
Then mating, nesting, bringing up the brood.
The days were scarcely long enough, but that
was long ago.  My children gone,
there’s time now for myself, time for a treat.
My yellow chisel bill breaks in the flesh
of these fine apples. Delicious. This is the life.

The wasps
This is our garden – insects do not have time
for individuality.  We built the colony, us lads,
chewed wood to make our paper nest, and now
we work to feed the grubs.
“Lads”, that is, using the word loosely – for us
gender is not important; that’s for the queen,
and, as it may be, the ones who service her,
none of our business.
But we need food too,
and if sustenance gives pleasure,
so much the better.  When we find a fruit
where blackbird’s chisel bill has broken in,
we eat our way inside, till only skin and core
encase our private eating/drinking den.
So what if it’s fermenting?  If we get tiddly,
and roll about, and buzz a drunken hum,
then who’s to care?  And if they do, we’ll sting ’em.

Eons old ink
Echo from the depths of the sea where the distelfink
Lay.  It’s resting place discovered by divers who deserve to sink.
Not because of their ability to dive, but because of their ability to lip-synch.
What do I do, and to whom do I do it to?  Think
I must, for I am on the brink

Of collapse.  Do I go on living; knowing full well that this paper, on the brink
Of destruction, will lay forever on the bottom of the ink
Colored water from which my work was discovered.  Think,
For my life depends on it, the life of my beloved distelfink.
This whole tiddly-wink of a subject puts a kink in my ability to lip-synch.
Wow, what a link I thought, might this have something to do with the ancient sink?

Yes, yes, but of course, the sink
Of my past people; presented nicely in the present.  My people, on the brink
Of destruction, now have but one hope…my ability to lip-synch.
Where is my paper?  Where is my ink?
I must create more, more distelfink!
What can I do, this is such a stink?  How can I think

About the distelfink?  When I must think
Solely about the outcome, the cease of distruction, to our precious ancient sink.
No, no my brain of pink must help me render up some distelfink.
****, my mind is not in sync!  My body is on the brink
Because of how much I have to double-think.  The ink
Will not flow, and with that, in a wink, I’ve lost my ability to lip-synch.

Outthink, outwit, out measure, I must regain my gift of lip-synch.
This cannot happen unless the cross-link in my brain fixes itself and allows me to think.
What will happen if my ability to think and cross-link forces me to ink?
Like an octopus scared for it’s life, scared that we may never save the sink.
Like blue-birds that can’t sing, I am on the brink
Of madness, madness at the thought of never completing my distelfink.

What if I never complete my distelfink.
Will I ever be able to lip-synch?
Will I constantly be on the brink
With the thought of not being able to think?
Will I save my people, my sink?
It all depends on my eons old ink.

Eons old ink creates pink water soaked distelfink
As it flows into the sink and out as lip-synch.
I must think or I will stay forever on the brink.

Beneath the weeping Willow tree
There sat a tiddly Monk
And no one knew and no one cared
Just why that Monk got drunk;
But everyday the clock struck twelve
You’d see him sitting there
Chirping cheerful ditties,
In a drunken slur.
Then one young boy, he stopped and asked,
“What troubles you my Lord?”
Ungraciously the monk replied
Or should I say, he roared!
“I have to taste the Holy wine,
It is my job you see.
But I cannot recommend it
Till I’ve tasted two or three,
And sometimes if the wine is corked
It can be five or six
So you see it’s not my fault
That I am in this fix.”
The boy said, “It’s not good my Lord
That a Holy man should be
Inebriated to the hilt
And sat beneath a tree.”
After giving one loud burp
The Monk he sat and cried,
“I’ll try to give it up my son
But many times I’ve tried.”
“The boy said Lord it’s come to me
This sudden blinding flash
My Dad would volunteer I know
But you’d have to pay him cash.”
“Your Dad would do this for me son,
Are you sure he’d volunteer?”
“It’s wine I know, but I think so
Although he’d prefer beer.”
“Is he a man of God?
Is he climbing Jacob’s Ladder?”
The boy said, “I don’t know
But he loves the ‘Bull and Bladder’.”
“Bring him to me soon my son
You’re the answer to my prayers
I thought I was forsaken
But now that someone cares,
I’ll walk the straight and narrow
And really sort my life.
Now what other sins have I?
Oh yes! I shouldn’t have a wife.
Do you think he’ll take her too?
This Father of yours son.”
“Well yes, he’s only human,
When all is said and done.
But that will cost, I’m sure you’ve guessed,
These things they don’t come cheap.
My Dad is sensible I know
And a robbing little creep.”
“That’s it then son.  Go forth.” He cried.
“Bring your Father here.
It will be worth it this I know
Even if it costs me dear.”
The boy pushed forth his hand
He expected a large tip
But the Monk pulled out a bottle
And he offered him a sip.
“I’m too young to drink my Lord,
You should be ashamed.
Although I know it is the wine
So you cannot be blamed.
But if you don’t cough up right now
And offer cash to me
You can sit there drunken all your life,
Beneath the Willow tree.”

Tiny tiddly dots
Run across of my eyes
The sheep are long gone
And I've counted all the cracks
Dreams allude me
As reality enters
The sun rises once more
To another sleepless life

Flight of Rococo
The marina was quiet this Sunday afternoon
The horde had gone back to their offices and factories
The pensioners who take vacation in September
And October walks slowly about and eat well they are
Not going dancing, the women will be tiddly and feel
As they did forty years ago, perhaps tonight the hubby
Will be frisky, but having drunk wine he will fall asleep
She has been going in and out of shops I'm outside
Pretending to be elsewhere I think of Goya's women.
Ah, this slimming craze why do so many women think
It is **** to look like freed concentration camp victims
She is tired now sits on a bench I walk around and look
At boats, I could never afford, except for a few ocean
Ship made of wood polished by rough hands by men who
Are not politically correct calling the ship a she that have
Or possess what men like about women

God Bless the Europeans
All talk Islander Carribeans
S=S Seance Superstitious
The cool pledge Americans,
Suspicious regions secretively
scrumptious Gummie bears
legions

Rambling computer dummies
Those dragonflies showbiz
Dummies the crew
Zazzle S to Sparkle
Pickles and pregnancy
The Hebrew National

Nathans Franks contest
Are we missing the SS
without the ramble, it will  be
someone's gamble
Not many things to impress
Those little bites to nibble
The bigger bites stumble

All words over Google
Too much rice or noodles
All Gods foreign hot rods
With their lady poodles

Ramble words at the racetrack
All talkers hail to the Queen
The King deck someone is all
talk watch your back

Without the poise
Well mannered words
They will never be back
Backing up her timeless rose
Holy Grace SS for Serenity
smoother sail rephrase

Deep contemplation
Ramble on the
crossword mission

Rambles but silently
Like her meditation
So many changes new
revisions of more
accusations
Up-words like the
Moonwalkers

Show business SS- Abby-Abyss
Access summer dress more or less
Abrasiveness  love blindness
Aggressiveness to kindness

Rambling on words
The plethora
Traveling in Space like
Dora the explorer
True love confessions
Being subjective way too
submissive
How do we live without them
The right words to say to them
To live with someone
Not talking to them and
holding them
The wanting feel the loving
Time so in the needing

Rambling for lust well being

But bust to bust
All she got was ashes
All layers like a desert storm
So alarming like clockwork
Ramble words again and again
They were all deceivers
To Ramble or rambles on
like her last will OH Bill
What a smile ****
Double **** good cheater

And  those hope words
they named her

HOPE SS Smashing table setting
But silent words like
a deaf-mute accidentally wetting
How do we cope to
fly like a kite
The last testament to my
Savor S to be
(Blessed) to be visited
Her **** Chanel French lips
with nothing to say Oh! No
Her French skirt rips

Say Yes! to LUV she rambles
on and on just dream on
Like a recital play
Her rainbow sky
of the skittle

Who needs this
midnight rambler Joker riddle
At midnight he talks and his a
certain physique

He does have lip smacker
Fruity trustee puncher
He's the mighty hot roses
Bless S for her sanity
There she goes
Rosemarie eating Italian
Calamari for dessert
Tiramisu with her
Tiddly dee TUTU

Her cousin mumbles
Eating leftover
Campbells soup
Feeling like a chicken
without my words
I will crumble

There she is Robin Rambles
Hot Scrambled eggs
What about Rod Stewart
see those
rocker legs
Hot mouth rambling
Light her fire with
Apple mystique
candles

Her body angles showing her
good talking samples
She had the best cheeks
and dimples

Loved her Chinese food
Veggie steamed Dumpling
But jump for the love
Her or him to Babble
Westside story Maria
Word fight rumble
So cosmic her coffee moon-shiny
talk of the comic funny bones

Ramble like a song I tunes
The midnight traveler what
hot body fuel

Why is this world so in shambles
I need to find a smooth talker
The nocturnal
Writing so many words in
her journal

Roll of  words SS SCENIC -SOUL

The greater expectation
The poem of philosophy
Birds and the
Rambling Robins
Biology
Only one word saved them
(***) she rambles 69 reasons
Why her voice should be heard
Hour of rest full bloom season
Her rambling head
The French chef brioche
baking
The bed post was shaking

SS>> Sensual-Seductive new
awakening she worked hard

But he rambles forget the
S- Solitude words we
have no peace
And sometimes
Road less traveled
Full of maniacs with
arrogance
Let's not take the fun
out of the resistance

Ancient Grecian times
of swords and more
Sensual Roman words
A love decent she is
rambling
Like her first love
delectable
Like her first taste most
recent words can also
come and go with a stroke
of her paintbrush

Her most important words
can be deleted
Do you really feel blessed
Another (SOS) SS? save me

i'm as lucid as a lunatic

playfully insane

over the moon like a loony tune

tiddly winking the day away

over the edge as if unhinged

flapping in the wind

being led by voices in my head

as they speak up once again

my elevator quickly passes

every other floor

but in my mind i still can find

the light of one more poem

i'm as lucid as a lunatic

playfully insane

over the moon like a loony tune

tiddly winking the day away

over the edge as if unhinged

flapping in the wind

being led by voices in my head

as they speak up once again

my elevator quickly passes

every other floor

but in my mind i still can find

the light of one more poem

Before you can say “Jack Robinson”
You’ll want to pause and take another breath
Your heart will beat tum-tum-tiddly-tum times
The earth will rotate on its axis some

Before you can say “Jack Robinson”
You’ll wonder if you brushed your teeth after lunch
The clock will go on strike for four o’clock
The moon will hold her mirror to the sun

Before you can say “Jack Robinson”
You will forget why you meant to say that

I went down to the shops to buy myself some dinner
And then I met a great tattooed lad wanting to punch my fucken
Head in I said to him just leave me alone or I will call the cops in
And have you locked up forever and a day as I continue to buy my dinner tonight I have no idea of what to choose it is very hard you see
The big 150 kg man was Packing the shelves near me
I asked him what are the specials for a nice dinner tonight oh tiddly um umm umm productor
You see he said straight back to me I should have a look at the meat aisle they have a lot of fresh cuts for you oh yeah that is grand
Then I went to the meat aisle and looked there forever
I saw pork chops and steak and sausages as well as a few chicken legs and even some burgers it took a long time
Cause they all sounded divine
So I picked up the burgers
I went over to the vegetable aisle to get my veggies and grabbed a broccoli and zucchini too this is going to be a tasty dinner totally healthy every day
And as I was walked to the checkout I saw the tattooed man and he said to me want a punch in the mouth
I said mate weren’t you going to the cop shop mate what happened with that he said to me they let me go because you are too stupid to press charges mate they had no reason to ****** well keep me locked up forever and a day I said thanks
Then he said enjoy ya tea and I chose my tea I will choose pizza and chips so I can die tomorrow
I said to him, you might be tough but I am healthy so next time we meet leave me alone or I’ll punch you up
And I went home to enjoy my burgers and veggies and we said wow man