Author: Mike Crowl

TACIT for 200 bars, I read, and
WRING my Bass Clarinet hands.
TODAY, it appears, I’m forced to
DWELL in the wasteland of military bands.

SHUSH, please don’t
SHARE the fact that
SOLAR power is, in many countries, unreliable; such knowledge
QUELLS – and quakes – the heart of your average Greenie.

[The problem with having SOLAR amongst the words; brings out the political…The title is a play on a line from a beer ad: ‘What’s wrong mate?’ – ‘I don’t like beer anymore…’]

ZESTY ice-cream on a
STICK is
GIVEN the once-over by the
GOODY two-shoes child, rejected.

SNIPE at me if you must. If that’s the
WORST you can do, I’m okay. I won’t
REACT, you ding-batted, twit-brained,
NUTTY fruit-caked, chunk of codswallop!

THINK the trend for the sauce is to
AMAZE. I’m amazed you didn’t know this.
SAUCE likes to think it amazes, so
TRENDy does the sauce think it is.

BRACE yourself for a wall falling on you: the
HIPPO has arrived for breakfast.
BROAD north, south, east and west, he maintains a
GOOEY expression, in spite of his stature.

LOCAL
BELIE dancers’ beads
CLINK while they – the dancers –
SAUTE dinner.

CANAL – the Panama one – cuts a water-filled
GORGE through the middle of a former
HAVEN, not only disturbing its peace, but
USURPing it.

CROWN of my day’s achievements: finding the weight of a
KOALA in our care. The other vets gave up, but before I took the
FERRY home, I managed to weigh the koala toddler, and not
SPANK the side of my head with frustration. Cute kid.

[One of my more odd poems…coming back to it, I’m not quite sure what I was saying, in part…]