Stick A Needle In Me And Take A Sample

Stick your needle in me,

Draw off some blood

And send it to a doctor.

Tell me,

Am I on some Ivory high?

Did my cat go meow meow?

Cos,

Let me tell you this,

I woke up this morning

Checked my blog

And found out something startling.

Woke up this morning

And found my poetry shite

Is being referred to

By some Obama-sex-scandal site.

So, I gotta be on something

Cos even blinking away my dew-eyes

Don’t chage a thing.

I gotta be on something!

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No Time For Idle Moments

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Calling me a busy bee

With those distant lips

Makes my soul skip its beat

And go wobbly kneed.

Those humble words

Whistle through the gaps

Turning me inside and out

As I patch over the black holes

With ego-duck tape,

Hoping you won’t notice

Those constant feelings inside.

This is where my bluster lies.

Swift Tuttle’s Tail

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Street lights off,

Shattered beams, stolen by a stone,

Leaving us in darkness.

Then flashes,

Glimpses of flowing sparks,

Arching across our sky.

Or maybe,

Friends saying good bye.

A Tilt Of Your Hat

A Tilt Of Your Hat

A tilt of your hat,
And to you sir,
I’ll doff my cap
For, of poets admired,
There were but three,
And there always shall be.

Our scribbling pens joined
At a café’s orchid room,
On virtual pages,
Through mists and rages
We created new worlds,
Internal prisms of fluid inspiration.

Your words lived,
And breathed.
You, sir, lived,
If no more
And with sadness
We’ll come to our own terms,
But your work,
Shall always shine bright.

So tilt your hat sir,
Take a bow,
And tilt your hat.

By Wulfstan Crumble
Dedicated to Paul Squires.

New Mornin’ Blues

New Mornin’ Blues

Wrote this song/poem in bed while rediscovering some old blues legends. I had the following blues masters in mind as I wrote this, bear in mind as you imagine the words, singing as i can only dream. Influenced by Li’l Millet and His Creoles (Rich Woman), Bo Diddly (Pretty Thing), John Lee Hooker and  Muddy Waters.

 

 

 

Leavin’ my job in the mornin’

Man it hurts,

Got them blues,

Still it hurts,

Even though I got plenty of warnin’.

 

Movin’ on plans still formin’

Got them in my head,

When I’m out of bed,

Still it hurts,

Gonna keep on learnin’.

 

Met myself some cool peeps

Good at teachin’

Through all them fumes

Never a preachin’

And there ain’t no creeps.

 

Got them new mornin’ blues

Trudging in my new shoes

And wondering what to do.

 

Getting’ the red shirt a morrow

The classes’ gonna be fine

Even the bickerin’ screws

Sure they’re gonna shine

Startin’ to feel the sorrow

 

Feeling them mornin’ blues

In all their hues

I wondering what to do.

 

Leavin’ my job in the evenin’

Still it hurts

Not just in my shoes

Man, it stings,

Wavin’ off some friends

And tugging those strings

 

They’re gonna be fine

Sure it hurts,

Even though I got warnin’

Now the future starts

And I’m wondering what to do.

Wondering what to do…

Rough Cut: New Story 1st Paragraph

Jumbled cubes,
ice skid-slipping down glass walls.
Tumbled gems cracking under liquid velvet.
Irish cream gulp-slipping to jazz talk from its cork popped bottle.
A sip.
Free form words flow faster than the liquor’s seeping warmth.
Eloquent conversation flowed by darkness, cream walls and the jangling of water-logged ice.

Teaching Monday

Flying clouds, lost sun,
Breeze blowing tumbling papers,
Ten Harry Potters