I keep a plog. Clever? a poetry log.
Alright so it was good at the time.
Cheesegreen – My poetry ‘Plog’
- Owe 08/11/2009I’m going to Make you an offer. You’re going to like It. Life isn’t very good At this sort of thing. So I’ll sell you my Soul. Posted by WordmobiChris
- Cyclone 04/11/2009I walk a cyclone on a nylon lead They can be cared for really easily, Remember they will always need to feed In wind and rain and other weather fronts, Engulfing all that stands up in it’s way Trains and cars, People and wildlife too. The upkeep can be quite prohibitive If you have nowhere else to really live, The cyclone never sleeps, [...]Chris
- Rolling 31/10/2009Roll your tongue over the slow earth, the live earth told in slow dreams. Letter over letter, lets roll over.Chris
- Pasta Sauce 31/10/2009Hooray for pasta sauce, Only the stuff in a jar of course, The other stuff is poncy and grim And yes it’ll help you keep all slim, It’s not the same as the stuff in a jar This wonderful Italian ambrosiarr. Made in Norwich and bottled in Gwent? It’s the taste I love, and it’s left me spent. [...]Chris
- Poetry Addict 31/10/2009Hi, I’m Chris, Response: Hi Chris And I am a poetry addict. I have been clean now for three months, My head is full of facts and figures, No stanzas or trochees or sestinas. No rhymes. Just statistics. At my worst, I rhymed everything I spoke. Trying to get a point across was a joke, I couldn’t stop thinking like Dr Seuss, And soon my [...]Chris
- Exmouth (after an argument) 31/10/2009Why would you want to be In that weird little place by the sea. Why would you make the trek to a place that has no self respect? Why would you want to be seen In a place where better days have been Why would you make a home, In a place where they steal garden gnomes, Why would you take your gran To [...]Chris
- Wedding Ring 28/10/2009Took off my ring, Yet it is imprinted on my skin, Punched and branded like Cattle. You saw me do it But chose not to say anything, Although it has been a long time coming. My finger is the only part of me, that is fine.Chris
- Services (Gordano) 28/10/2009We’ve stopped, and our aching bodies function again, after three hours in hyperspace. Place your feet on martian aggregate. Bright white walls, candy coloured cuddly brand logos, shining in a radioactive post apocalyptic flicker. The foyer, home to sedated loney cheeseplants living next a faux-oasis in a stasis of activity. Baby changing facilities, s […]Chris
- Effy 28/10/2009Effy smoked Like life was ending in an hour. But it would in ten years. She didn’t seem to care as nicotenel patches adorned her arm, flat limpets on a cragging saggy rock. One night, she spontaneously combusted, leaving a pair of charred feet. And a fag butt.Chris
- Cathedral 28/10/2009No ball games On ancient bricks, Viynl chips the brittle Sandstone. Base of the tower, grand old lady in goal. With every shot she Neither dives or jumps. Static, still and almighty. 800 years can stop more then a football. History patched and quilted in to brickwork.Chris
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