a saucer full of cabriolet,
dream-song of psalm,
or am I mad already?
I can see the lips of patients
in the suburbs with their wrists
bandaged in a crock of souvenir's.
it was the very last train to Cornwall
when I last saw pickled gherkins in a bag.
they had no teeth, no cloth of sweet perfume
tho am told they came through loves own porcelain.
our skulls embraced the wish-bone of it's smell
to a higher noon of posing-pouch with gel.
oh what the hell!
we only live once.
buy me a red stick of rock
and I'll lend you my copy of Radio Times.
my record is stuck on the opening page
and I'm all out of needles and pins.
-
Author:
Melvin James (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: August 5th, 2024 13:50
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 29
- Users favorite of this poem: Teddy.15
Offline)
Comments4
Enigmatic this one requires several readings and a key to unlock its secrets. Most interesting imagery
was all over the place with this one soren.
not sure where it took me.
many thanks for your kind comment.
Tremendous imagery and use of language. I sound like a broken record. Lol. Great work.
trust me my friend, I wont tire of it all.
many thanks Thomas.
I find much nostalgia in this one dearest Melvin, as always a wonderful read. 🌹
up and around the houses with this one Teddy.
added a little humour, but still feel it all went astray.
Not at all I was smiling all the way through 🌹
and I have lost count the times you have made me smile my friend Teddy.
thank you;
"our skulls embraced the wish-bone of it's smell" indeed! Clever and well presented. Nice.
thank you Dan,
very much appreciated.
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.