English Poems From Forehooied

On Releasing my Inner Napoleon I would have: None of my poems set to music by John Cage All dogs made to wear nappies in public places Spiders and roaches exiled to Muckle Flugga All creatives given a salary for life Be universally nicknamed Blackhall the Brilliant Re-establish Scots as Scotland's official language A private jet to avoid catching colds on buses Negative critics sent to Siberian salt mines The power to teleport to Glen Quoich's punchbowl The Birdless Tree I am a birdless tree Since my son perished Dead leaves hang from me An owl's hoot echoes For my trunk is hollow Within me is a sore vacuity Untrod No more plod, plod, plodding Up four flights of stairs with a pitiful bag of shopping No more tossing bills into the waste bin No washing spread to dry on the sofa No need to bite your fingernails down to the quick The fridge, hauled down to the skip Dealers, towing away the abandoned car In all of this, where was your grandmother's god? We'll have no more meetings over a pizza No more tobacco scraped from the battered tin No roll ups with other bachelor paraphernalia Life's a sod I am forsaken, felled by the immensity of your leaving Spring sunshine's back, but you're not here to enjoy it Your siblings' bairns are growing But you're not here to see them Gone, like a dropped stone, under a lid of water A life half-lived, so many roads untrod