I (sometimes) call myself Mr. Pondersome. I'm a rather wordy, weirdy person. I say hullo a lot. I write a lot more. While you're here, why not give some of it a read?

Tuesday, 28 May 2013

CLOUDING UP ON DAISY STREET (a.k.a. A Soggy Vignette)

The twelve o'clock bus is showing me something.

A shapely droplet slides from the eye of the man in the Travel Pass poster. He is smiling for the advert but now I'm not so certain.

I follow the level of his stare to a window on the opposite side. The pane's become foggy but I can still look out from the right hand corner. A sign says Daisy Street.

I think maybe he kissed a Daisy once, this Travel Pass poster man. He's probably met this crossing a few times before. There's a faultless alignment between him and the sign.

It breaks and I finally lose interest. The bus turns the corner and the drip slips down to the tagline.

Mine is the next stop.

SOMEWHERE HERE, THERE WERE (a.k.a. A Little Anagram Poem)

where some
whose mere
heroes mew
whore, seem
worse. He, me,
we rose hem

Friday, 24 May 2013

TOOTH, PAST (a.k.a. A Poem about Anthropomorphic Chompers)

I am the flying molar.
I am The Original Flying Molar.
I have no idea where this trajectory
is taking me
but at least I'm not an incisor.
I'd shout it from the roof of the mouth
if I could

Incisors are alright growing up
but then they grow up into right bastards:
pushing to the front,
taking the first cut.
We were fine in the gums but then
the personalities formed
and there was a reshuffle.
Ambitious Incisors,
skulking Canines
and, of course, us:
the final grinders.

I was one of the best,
I was in the middle,
I got the biggest cut,
I got the lay of the tongue.
I remember one time
I cracked a lollipop,
I cracked it for the satisfaction.
My other half was on the bottom
but we touched,
we ground it together.
We ground together.

I'll never see my other half again.
I'll never crush through the barriers
to meet,
to get the job done.
I'll never be washed
knowing we'll both be washed,
kissing through the brushstrokes.
That was the way we shared.
In my life I've been yellow
and white
and grey
and all other shades of vulnerable
but compared to this...

I've never flown either but
is this flying?
I see the landing point,
it's bigger than I've ever seen and
I know I'll land on my back.
It looks soft
like a palate
or a tongue
only without all the

To think, I'll never crush again.
To think, I'll never be chipped.
I think I'll make a sound now,
one last bite down.

That was too soft.

CHEEK (a.k.a. A Poem about a Real Life Event that Happened After a Dentist Appointment)

I saw a man
quite short,
red shirt,
evidently balding,
stood at the foot of a hill.
He was pelvic thrusting.

He was dancing
or else being pushed around
by the kind of music
that intrudes on an open street.

Up close his face was bruised.
He shook his hips.

He shouted 'I wouldn't hurt anyone.'
and told me how someone had broken his cheekbone in three places.
I asked 'Did you get him back?'
he said 'I wouldn't hurt anybody.'

It was sunny then.

Wednesday, 15 May 2013

A Seaside Litigation Joke (a.k.a. A Truly Terrible Joke)

Q: Did you hear about the beachside town that was put on trial?

A: The presiding judge was the highest cliff, the prosecuting counsel was the sea breeze and the defending counsel was a single wave coming in. At least it had a jury of its piers...