April Poem A Day Poems So Far (Week Two)

April 14 Poem A Day 2

My friend Mark has a whole room
Devoted to his trousers.
He’s got two pairs of trousers.
One beige, one slightly off-beige.
They are hung in his trouser room,
Though seldom simultaneously,
As he’s usually wearing his trousers,
Unless he’s wearing shorts.

Mark, I said. Mark. Marky babes,
Why have you got a whole room devoted
Just to your trousers?
And he replied that it was to stop them
From getting creased, and could I please not
Call him Marky babes?

A ground-floor room, climate controlled,
Exposed oak beams, Gothic window,
Stained glass, flagstone floor,
Trousers rotating in the slightest breeze
Trousers rotating in the slightest breeze
Trousers rotating in the slightest breeze
Mesmerisingly.

In twilight the trousers take on
A personality all of their own,
The low evening sun diffused
Through stained glass captures the various
Zips buttons and poppers
Of Mark’s cacks
Like imaginary constellations decrying
Nonsensical astrology.

Mark.
Hey, Mark.
Mark.
Mark.
Mark.
Mark.
Mark
Hey Mark.
Mark.
Mark.
Mark.
Mark.
Mark.
You are so devilishly impulsive.
Sorry, I thought you were Mark.

Two years ago the local perv
Broke in and was found
Sniffing the crotch of the left hand pair.
And since then Mark has
Always locked the door.

Mark came round the other day
And did some work for me.
I paid him with a twenty pound note.
He trousered it,

During the great earth tenor of 2013
They swung gently like
Two old people
At a Cliff Richard concert.

There was a man in there the other day with Mark.
‘Who’s that?’ I asked.
Mark replied
‘He’s just a trouser browser’.

THE
AIR
SMELLS
FEINTLY
OF
FEBREZE

living room
kitchen
dining room
bedroom
trouser room
guest room
He’s put the house on the market
‘Why’s that?’ I asked.
He replied, ‘I’ve just bought another
Pair of trousers’.

My Aunt lives near Heathrow Airport
And every time a plane flies over
The glasses in her drinks cabinet
Jingle together.
( this has got nothing to do
With Mark or his trouser room).

As a joke a jape as tomfoolery
As a cruel prank last Thursday
I let a fully grown mountain goat
Into Mark’s trouser room.
But the joke was on me because
It was the local perv again
Dressed as a mountain goat.

Poem

Too hot out
For serious contemplation.
I sit in the cool of my room
At my parent’s
Bunga
Low.

Window open,
Net curtains twitching on the slightest breeze,
Car tyres on the concrete road surface,
Apolo
Getic.

The stipples ceiling has cracks.
Little roads through a mountain landscape.
But instead of being round the world is
Rectangular
( Except for a slight recess in the east).
The capital city is the light fixture.
The explorers are ever so brave
Who reach as far as the
Archi
Trave.

Outside in the summer heat,
The plaintive honking
Of something that honks.
I’m a city boy so I don’t really know
What kind of animal honks.
But I wish it wouldn’t.
It gives me the willies.

I imagine the room filled with
Albino
Ocelot
Octopuses
Cool
Coral
A
Drinks
Vending
Machine
PepsiCo

It’s so hot
I try to visualise somewhere cool
Like an airport air conditioned coffee shop.

Actually the honking is probably
Just the shed door
Creaking in the breeze.

Poem

A pig and a donkey did it once
And now we’ve got a ponkey.
It stands in the lobby
Next to the receptionist.
It’s ever so helpful.

A visiting professor of zoology
Was most bemused by its neurological
Characteristics.
The tenacity of a donkey.
The amiability of a pig.
‘The best of both worlds, Mr Morgan.
The best Of both worlds’.

And I said,
‘Who’s Mr Morgan?’
And the ponkey said
‘Squeal-ore’.

One night the receptionist said
‘I can’t work properly or efficiently with the ponkey
Watching my every move’.
And I said ‘It’s got the amiability of a pig,
That’s what the professor said’,
And she replied, ‘I wouldn’t go trusting
Everything that quack said,
After all, he thought your name was
Mr Morgan’.
Fair point.

A plaice and a flounder did it once
And now we’ve got a plounder.
It then had offspring of its own
Which are quarter-plounders.
They taste just like flounders.

Poem

Helen is turning into Leeds Castle.
I noticed in the sauna last night
That she’s developing
R
A
Mparts.
There’s a certain grey aspect to her skin.
She’s got a drawbridge where before
She merely had
The normal accoutrements of a
Middle aged lady.

Hey, Helen.
You always were impassive,
So stony faced.
Let me clamber up your
Battlements.

Instead of a hat she’s got a moat.
Instead of a handbag she’s got a gift shop.
Instead of glasses she’s got a keep.
Here hairstyle was a fashionable bob.
Now it’s crenelated.
Instead of a coat she’s got some tea rooms.

It was hot in the sauna.
She said,
‘You’ll get nothing out of me’.
I said,
‘You’re so defensive’.
She said,
‘Its my job’.
I said,
‘Let me get close to you’.
She said
‘I distrust all poet rio invaders’.
I said,
‘What if I bring some ice cream?’
She said
‘One must naturally be cautious’.
I said
‘Human society is built on compromise’.
She said
‘Isn’t it hot in here?’
I said
‘It’s a sauna, what do you expect?’
And then a coach party of
Tourists arrived.

Oh, Helen,
I’d like to climb your
Spiral staircase
And raise my flag
From your
Immovable turrets and other
Architectural flourishes.

Ever since she started
Turning into Leeds Castle
She walks much slower
And I got frustrated in the high street
When people kept coming up and saying,
‘I know you from somewhere’.

Poem

This poem keeps BANG backfiring.
I’ve done a systems BANG check
But it still keeps BANG backfiring.

They moved the tables round in Costa
BANG and now I feel losssssssst.
Where my favourite table was
BANG BANG is now a sofa
OMG BANG

Chinny comes BANG in
He’s shaved off his beard
And BANG now it emphasises
The lack of a BANG chin
That led to Mark BANG and I calling him,
BANG ironically, Chinny
(We’re both BANG quote sarcastic sometimes).

BANG BANG
There’s a shed in the middle
Of the BANG national archives
On asking BANG the Chief Archivist why
BANG she replied
That BANG BANG
That BANG
That BANG BANG
She replied
BANG BANG BANG
She replied that it looked BANG
Better than a greenhouse.

On purchasing a novelty BANG inflatable
Pink flamingo from Amazon.BANGcom
I was notified BANG that
‘Customers also purchased BANG
A novelty giant BANG pocket watch BANG
Suitable for the Mad Hatter.’

Since the new BANG people
Took BANG over BANG the deli BANG
It’s been BANG fairly BANG quiet in there BANG
BANG I suppose BANG they need to BANG
Build a rapport BANG BANG with their BANG BANG
BANG BANG
BANG BANG BANG clientele.

Mark is BANG POP BANG POP coming to join me
In the POP POP coffee shop POP
(That’s weird, it’s never popped until now BANG).

Two castles
Facing each other
And two forbidden lovers.
One, an athletic youth BANG,
A prince, joyous, forlorn,
And she, a BANG winsome princess,
Buxom, BANG coquettish.

The bin robbers BANG took the BANG pouffe!
The bin BANG robbers took BANG the pouffe!
The BANG bin robbers BANG took BANG the pouffe!

I can’t believe he (BANG Chinny) took a mobility scooter
Into the London BANG underground and BANG got
Stuck between BANG the ticket barriers BANG
Wheeeeeeeels spinnnnnnnning tyre smoke curling BANG

And thence BANG BANG BANG POP BANG
BANG oh BANG BANG POP BANG POP BANG
POP BANG BANG just BANG BANG POP BANG
BANG forget BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG
BANG BANG BANG BANG it BANG BANG POP BANG
BANG BANG BANG POP BANG BANG BANG BANG

Poem

I’m not Matt Harvey.
I wish I was but I’m not.
And even if I was
I wouldn’t write a poem in this style.
This is my style.
Not Matt Harvey’s.
And in any case
Matt Harvey wouldn’t write a poem
Which starts with the line
‘I’m not Matt Harvey’
Because he blatantly is.

I’m not Doris Lessing, either.

Poem

This is my slam poem poem.
It’s a poem about a slam poem.
I’d like to perform my slam poem poem
At a poetry slam with the slam poets.

This is my slam poem poem.
I’d hover at the mic
Like a kestrel at the slam
With my poem at hand
Because I’m the man at the slam with the plan
Who thinks he’s the best in the land
And that’s why I’m at the slam.

Slam down that muvva!

I won’t be going
No to or fro-ing
With this poem
And all that life is owing
Can be found in this poem
More robust than a Boeing
747-400.

I told my friend Fran
That I was entering the slam
And she said ‘Don’t forget your bran

Flakes’.

‘Do you want a hand?
I can drive you in my van
To the slam’.
Said Fran.

Hey there
Hip cat
On stage
Mic man
Slam man
Hey there
Hip cat
Trip hop
Hip hop
Top hat
Mic man
Hey there
Hey there
You there
Mic man
Ice cream
Mic man
Yes please
Oh dear

This is my slam poem poem poem
This is my slam poem slam poem
This is my slam poem poem slam
Slam the poem
Slam it down
Slam down the poem
The slam poem poem
Slam it like a bad boy
Slam the slam slam slam
Hey sister go sister go sister go sister
Watch me slam
Did you see me slam?
Did you see me slam it?
Did you see the slam that I slammed
Did you see me slam it dammit?

There’s slam all over the place now

Oh oh oh I want so much to do this
And I’m all hyped up now
But Darren says I’m not good at the mic.

Poem

Disco dancing with Seamus Heaney.
I think it was Erasure,
‘Who needs love like that?’

He didn’t once analyse the lyrics.
I ought he was Norman Mailer.
He went to take his t- shirt off.
No, I said. Please, no.

Ok, Heaney, I said.
I think your books about Rabbit Angstrom are sheeeeeer genius!
For some reason he sighed quite audibly.

Banging it banging it banging it.
Punching at the ceiling.
Blowing a whistle with all his might!

There was something retro about the nightclub.
I wore my Converse All Stars.
They look trendy but they hurt after a bit
If I danced too much.

He didn’t buy me a drink.
Heaney, you’re such a meany.

The next song was M’s PopMuzik.
Ah man!, I said, I love this one!
Heaney sloped off, started chatting up a
Pretty young thing from Newton Abbot.

Who else would benefit from this?
Who else wants to join right in?
Who else shall I add to this
marvellous fandango
flamingo
flamenco
crazy crazy beat
Sylvia Plath doing the
cha
cha
cha
Who else wants a piece of this?

Heaney Heaney Heaney
His lips are devil red
And his skin’s the colour of mocha

Thinking back it might have been a while ago
As Erasure and M were both 80s acts
And both Heaney and Mailer are brown bread now

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