Poem of the day- Forget me not

Forge me not


Passing taut wire hanging out to dry,

The washing pile irons of Saturday mince pie.

Truffle snuffled up in Provence

A simple desert for and oasis to flavour

Whipped up with whisky on a veranda chair

Rocking until midnight trust much to savour

Papal majesty lost in children’s torn heart

Innocence of the innocent a determined farce

No playground mystery haunted with pleads for plaster

To cover the cuts and bruises lent as a form of varnish

To sheen over truth, much better in the old days

When tax were tacks to hold up your trousers

Lice fed on eyebrows and population controlled by early death

Disease ridden ideas feed corporal punishment hoops to leap through

Pack up your roubles in the old withered facts

Primary station a place for water



November 16

Copyright Patrick Turner-Lee 2014

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