Poet Authority Poem Terminal

Waves crash

Splish splash

The couple just moved in
But refused the membership
Disagreements soon broke out
With neighbours giving lip

Friction over plant pots
Between the haves and nots
They bought themselves a caravan
Just to watch it rot

A driveway filled with housing
Within the homeowner glare
Tyres start to crumble
They cannot contain despair

It all felt so perfect
A revenge just so pure
Nothing could be done
But pin a note to the door

The fascists ruled the street
Took pride in the monotony
But now a humble caravan
Destroys a street's prim botany

The sky
Is clear.
The Sun
It shines.

As I lie in a puddle of filth.
Fear lowers itself upon silken string.
The bold sailor looks on with a smile.
Friend of the mermaid he stands beside.
They offer no aid as I struggle with fear.
Trapped naked with no means of riposte.
Condemned to a life in the liquid clink.

A poet roams the morning grass.
Filled with morning dew.
A walk enjoyed significantly more.
If they hadn't forgotten their shoes.

Biscuits! Biscuits! Biscuits everywhere
Bourbons and custard creams
The foundations of an empire

The fascists stole my biscuits
Used them in their greed
All biscuits should be British
In a world that sees no need

Give them a chocolate finger
You know, the middle one
Or maybe add a second
A British confrontation

Now let's have some tea
A delicious Yorkshire blend
Filled with British milk
As we await a union's end

What?
Wow
Wow what?
That's crazy
Wow
Like, follow, subscribe

Look at Theresa
How does she remain so still
May be a robot

Dear hippopotamus
Standing in a zoo
Wouldn't you rather be out here
With all of us
My dear hippopotamus

Hippopotamus
You've spent your life in a prison
But you don't look like a prism
You look grey and rotund and toothy like a hippopotamus
Your cage is big enough for all of us
Can't we be in there with you?

Telephones
Small screens people hold
And touch with their fingers
Instead of holding and touching each other
They look at them as they sit on a bus
Instead of looking around at things
Are they all mindless drones
Are you?
Telephones

In clothes soon to discover a nearby launderette
My lap becomes the seat for a cigarette
As legs plea for blood I begin to brace
For a breath of smoke delivered to my face
I sit trapped beneath an unappealing date
Desperately trying not to suffocate

Is all joy in the world not lost
When one no longer feels the desire
To run a finger across the foil
Of a branded chocolate bar.

Listening to a symphony a poet feels some feelings.
It writes about them in the past.
Yesterday at the very least.
Now the verse cannot be found.
And the feelings felt were fleeting.

He admired the brickwork while walking by the house.
People don't really do that these days.
It's more about the shrubbery.
He thinks to himself unsure if it's true.

A man sits
Breaking down boxes
From deliveries long fulfilled
He let too many pile up
And now he is bored
But he does it for the Earth
Hoping they'll be recycled
He's a man of the people
Yeah, what a guy

To be a muscular kissing man
Is the greatest challenge of all
These weights are all so heavy
He feels his knees crumple

He tries and tries and tries again
To lift above his head
These weights that are still so heavy
His arms snap and now he's dead

He looks upon his fresh new corpse
At least it's easy to carry
The scrawny, weak, delicate frame
Of a man no one would marry

Desperate to impress a woman,
He kicked the ball with all his might.
He felt the bone in his leg shatter.
He tried to mask the pain as best he could.
Challenged his date to a hopping race home.
He wouldn't take no for an answer.

Sue from the tennis still reads out questions.
They laugh at nothing.
She feeds on crumbs that have fallen from cricket Phil.
I'm not sure anyone knows they are still there.

A man sits in his office.
He looks up and sees the Humber Bridge.
Terror fills his eyes.
Has he forgotten he's in Hull?
No, he is looking at a picture.
Relief prevails.

Doctor Strange was delighted with his cloak.
It would give him cuddles upon request.
He thought that was lovely.

A man plays video games.
Sitting in his pyjamas.
Pondering whether he is creating art.
Now he's certain.

A beautiful butterfly flutters and butters through the sky.
The graceful cat carefully pursues its prey.
A family endures grouped consumption at their dining table as repentance for the day's sins.
The cat hops onto the table, dumping an ailing butterfly for the family to admire.
No one is impressed.

To incite creativity she visited an art gallery.
A third floor closure was soon discovered.
Mild inconvenience was all she could recall of her visit.

My best friend is a robot
We met when he fell from space
The only way we can communicate
Is through a fax machine on his face

My best friend is a robot
It can turn into a car
He wanted me to ride him
But I wouldn't go that far

His eyes are orange light bulbs
Eventually one of them blew
People thought he was flirting
Looking for an easy screw

We went down to the local bar
Where burly patrons showed aggression
Who despite my robot's metal frame
Were insulted by his seductive expression

I smashed up my neighbour's car that night
To steal an indicator light
My robot was chuffed to bits
When I gave it back full sight

I heard my neighbour hit a cyclist
Who didn't know he was turning
But I don't care because my best friend's a robot
Our relationship still strongly burning

Surrounded by the sights of Paris,
She awaits a kiss atop the Eiffel Tower.
He takes in the view, oblivious.

A woman shifts in her sleep knocking over the toaster.
A man had misunderstood her request.
She brushes the crumbs off her morning flesh, calls him an idiot and departs.
The barely warmed bread has fallen out of the toaster, he palms it, melancholy.

Adam's leaf fell off and blew away.
He was too embarrassed to bend over and pick up another.
He cupped his balls and hoped no one wanted to shake his hand.