Poem of the Day — Grapple


Plucked eyebrow, tremble town, shaking mixer.

Crunch biscuit chews, on a day to day basis

My stomach cramps

A grass genius dreaming of pastures grown

Old man pickles my jar of antics

Young lad strokes his only hope

A hairy mistress with a tale to tell

My brothers tarnished history is thrown to the dogs

Ripped to shreds by the Sunday paper

The one in the East End

Am I mistaken but it seems to have changed

Must be where the money is

I have no change left to give to the meter

Go cold this winter

If we vote the boring box ticking stories in

Lost in pyromaniac antics

I sleep in torn off feathers


April 13th 2015

Patrick Turner-Lee Copyright 2015

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