The Lord Mayors Hat
Fuck it.
Fuck your own pumpkins.
Speak of me as you did in the old way.
Gobble me, swallow me, slip out the back of me.
Forgive me father for I have blimped.
What is it all about?
Poetry is my purple parachute
Breathe beauty, why not?
The river flows like the wind blows,
sparkling deep, fast and blue.
A humpback whale swims,
serene in my mind.
A gentle remember that life is fine.
What a silly experience.
What a weird way to waste a Wednesday.
Washing machines live longer with Calgon,
And the rain glistens under the street light.
If I lose, it was rigged. When I win, I’ve sinned
Write me a line, swim me a song, wait quietly to belong.
Will you include my line this time? Look – I even made it rhyme.
Club nights were made for staying at home.
Abrasive like shaken carbonation.
Gentle was the frequency we needed.
A watery event of rivers and seas.
You can’t tell me that burial mound isn’t a euphemism
Where’s my trigger warning?
There can be no poem without… or there probably can.
But, oh…My mum’s a Tory & my daughter a Corby.
Dog’s are a ball of joy that we do not deserve,
their wagging tail is the wagging of our souls.
Exceptional outfit + No Ideas.
One fish short of a mince pie.
You have to run so far to stay here.
I like your shoes Cal.
All you ever eat is pasta pesto.
And that is all I could fit in my armpit.
Enjoy your retirement Cal.