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arkansas the aardvark

the sky were grey and gumboiled
and something made no sense
least of all miss frobisher
who stood upon a fence

chewing daff and tulip bulbs
laughing like a train
while arkansas the aarvark
slept quietly down a drain

against his mother's wishes
as were throwing off his pants
proclaiming, when he's old enough
he wasn't fond of ants

for which the ants were very pleased
and danced a merry dance
while prissy, missy frobisher
cartwheeled off to france

or would have done, had she not
fell among the swedes
and in doing so, thought she'd gone
further than her needs

'Je ne connais pas le suédois'
she uttered, though for why
is beyond all comprehension
of the swedes, the ants, and fly

annoying poor young arkansas
by strutting 'pon his nose
that were snoring well until the fly
stopped to strut and pose

for the attention of miss frobisher
who'd torn her pretty dress
and knocked the tops off several swedes
and left them in a mess

for which the swedes were most irate,
'Du jävla dumma ko!'
but of course, miss frobisher
of swedish didn't know

what the veg were on about
and for the best 'twere so
and throughout all this excitement
arkansas made not a show.

Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Editing stage: 


Martin Frobisher was a pirate
who thought he found gold
It turned out to be iron pyrite
worth nothing at all

I like your poem, it is an intellectualy pleasing piece of uncommon nonsence.
My attention span is short but I finished reading the text.


or 'Snoddy' as he was known by name.
he'd a passion for the sea, and an eyeglass
and pimped for the gals on the game.
as a young man he'd toured with a circus
as an underpaid skivvy and juggler,
but the briny and wealth was his purpose
and ended his days as a smuggler.

anywhos, thank you for encouraging words,
though i wouldn't say it's complete nonsense.
it has a serious side.


oh, i think so.
much like 'the odourless travelled' by ephraim crud.
it's a masterpiece of deception, because he can!

thank you again.

author comment

I reffered to nonsene literature as a genre liKe Alice in Wonderland.
Lear, Carroll, Gorey, Lennon, Sandburg are people who wrote in the style.


я знал, что вы имели в виду.
Я приветствовал ваши слова.

author comment

Your Russian is sweet and rhythmic.
What a pleasure to hear a word in a native toungue.
Would you write a poem together with me?

I am walking along
a string of thoughts
that is attached to a letter k
The fabulous ending it adds
to the word MagicK.

How it helps to transform
the content from circus
to the occult search
for freedom of soul.

One must find out for oneself, and make sure beyond doubt, who one is, what one is, why one is ...Being thus conscious of the proper course to pursue, the next thing is to understand the conditions necessary to following it out. After that, one must eliminate from oneself every element alien or hostile to success, and develop those parts of oneself which are specially needed to control the aforesaid conditions. (Crowley, Magick, Book 4 p.134)

What do you think about those
forgotten by many words?
History has an attraction
of travel without
leaving one's chair.

BTW, Crowley was also a spy,
a poet, a bisexual libertine,
religious leader and many more.
The only problem
it is hard to write about someone
I never have met before.
Perhaps you can help?
Since you are friends with
explorers and pirates?


once for the above reply (i think we'd make lovely poetry, lol),
and for the inspiration that follows:
(it's about someone i never met, by the way, lol)


leap for want of a better word
from the desert of me bed
with self in hand and bursting
to sluice the floor instead
of leaving the jif and j-cloth
in the cupboard neath the sink
next to the can of vanish
like last night i can't think
before a dozen coffees
and double that of fags
to climb the stairs to me studio
with hope and growing bags
of sleepless nights, hazy daze
beneath me bloodlet eyes
like little maps of back-roads
ending in no surprise
me brush don't do what i want it to
there's paint upon her face
picturing the love we used to be
snapped in another space
that stares me from the canvas
steers me to the bar
to another round of disappear
in phlegm and sticks of tar.

thank you.

ps- freedom's the more impossible when you're tied up with words!

author comment





Loved your new write have missed the humour this place has become quiet again so we must liven it up a bit just be a good lad???
Africa my birth place as man was born
Ants so busy they just keep me warm
Roaming the bush from mound to mound
Delving with tongue deep underground
Velvet termites a great soft feast for me
Aware of the others, hurry up, I must flee
Remember me, and let me plant my seed
Keep us safe from this extinctions greed.
Go well and take care,
Yours, Ian..

Give critique to help keep Neopoet great.
Unconditional love to you all.
"Learn to love yourself first"
Yours as always, Ian.T, Sparrow, and Yenti

...i have ever been the good boy.
it's the jealousy of others that's bad.
as for humour: much like my cock,
it's hard yet most enjoyable.
it's a taut rope burning
at both ends of misery. lol.

thank you muchly, young sparrow,
for your fine words of wisdom.
i'll do me best! x


author comment
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