Welcome to My Poetry Site
I'm writing today as a surrealist,
About a frog with the feet of a pianist,
A mechanical arm on an upside down farm,
Growing gearboxes, wrenches and peonies.
I might tell of a nude in pyjamas,
Or some roots with a bunch of bananas,
A trumpet in blue on the end of a screw,
Mesmerising a pina colada.
I may write of a face with no eyes,
A mouth with a fanfare of flies,
A cascade of wings and some very weird things,
Like a flock of cowpats steaming by.
There's a man in a complex contortion,
A suit with no head just a torso,
A girl with some string, a gas mask in spring,
Did I see a barbell? Well I thought so.
I could tell of a coil in a cart,
A hammer for breaking a heart,
A crab on a raft near an old phonograph,
A glass axe, two springs and a harp.
That's it, I must beg to retract,
But don't worry one day I'll be back,
I've a brick and some sand on some funny old land,
Where I'm going to paint something abstract.
© Joseph G Dawson