The poetry of RAF Gordon


Humans are a strange people, private and absurd
they stalk about inflamed by curiosity
devious they wander
perpetrators of mysterious notions
they fumble into slippers
painstakingly they boil up cocoa for reasons of its taste
their teeth enjoy toast for crunching brings such a nice feeling
they chant "ho ho ho" at funny jokes and like to know awkward things about people in another land
little animals roam about in chains at their feet
they keep them fluffy and buy them bones because they think them stupid
and are proud that they are better creatures and much cleverer.

Animal Plot

animals greet me as I pass
squeaks of quaint admiration
but darker creatures that love me not plot insidiously against my very blood
I amble by pretending not to sense their presence as they hop across walls to hide their wicked plans
they contrive to terminate my life quite soon in most unpleasant fashion
but I warn them in tones profound and thunderous
be it evening frog or dawn light sparrow
I do not suffer torment from feathers or from farrow
the innocent squeak or hushed croak won't crush my living body
for I know fearsome friends most faithful
the fierce dog from the scrapyard's buckled twists
has shiny fangs that sip blood-reddily
and mangle sinews of slime-clad frog
the next door horse pulverises small birds neath the ruthless hooves of horn
and midnight spiders sing requiem mass to the fallen frogs
and rebellious sparrows who dare to cross my path

Modern Bicycles

Prancing on hooves
obnoxious donkey
I'll sell you to the man
No you won't
Yes I will
because "for sale a bicycle"
unfortunately with broken dynamo
oily chain, whirring sound
days to travel at a snail's pace through fresh faced countryside
I never liked you horse
stinking nosebag and clattering feet
these are modern times you know
and in future all men will have bicycles
bicycles with lights
shiny bicycles
fast bicycles
black bicycles
green bicycles
striped bicycles
huge bicycles
yes rich and poor, policeman and sailor
all will wear bicycle clips
obnoxious donkey go away
I don't need you any more
clippety clop clippety clop clippety clop

The Grand Tobacconer

Aha the Grand Tobaconner
'mongst sweet oaks and watermeadows does dwell
who speculates the ways of butterflies
but who wades in the bowels of hell
"kind sir "a gentleman once asked me
observing my ludicrous grin
"what news of the Grand Tobacconner, his own dear kith and kin"
there once was a sewage wastepipe
there once was a village green
there once was a Grand Tobacconer
had he lived he'd have married a queen