We Regret Your Pavement Services Are Subject To Delay

We regret your pavement services are subject to delay,
The wrong kind of leaves have blocked the passageway.
There's an old lady pile-up near the bingo alleyway,
Engineers are removing them; it will take a couple of days.


This pavement has been shut down for the next two hours,
An over ego'd celebrity chef's orangutan'd a bag of flour.
Following this pedestrian action, your pavement's lost all power.
We recommend you activate your hidden yogic-flying superpowers.


This pavement is overheating due to climate change,
Powdery sun rays are melting flagstones a crazy golf course range.
For health and safety considerations please continue your journey by plane.
For a refund claim, our pavement office is located in the deep Ukraine.


Pavement Rage - that's rage against pavements; we're striking pavementists!
We apologise to all pavement providers for our actions industrialist.
Should pavement operators wish to complain or seek our benediction,
We're conveniently located inside a pyramid in the Martian jurisdiction.

Difficult Day

I have a feeling,
Today is going to be,
A very difficult day;
A very, very,
Difficult, difficult day.

I anticipate,
The day today,
Might prove as difficult,
As another day today I had,
Of eight-years ago.

And that really was,
A very difficult day.

And please put that in very large capital letters,
Inside incredibly ginormous inverted commas, like this:
"VERY LARGE CAPITAL LETTERS"
Because Honestly, it really was that difficult.
Verily very.

For all our yesterday's relived in the today,
Seem somehow less difficult,
Reprising in Mandalay;
Our revivified-backwards life where every sense is made -
Every sense that's there,
Seems so elusive for here today.

I wish I could sleep through a difficult today,
Like some people are now sleeping through mine -
Perhaps including you?
No wonder you aren't reading this,
Oh, I know you might think you are;
But you're really only dreaming you are,
So mired you are,
In this very difficult dream you are.

My hair smells of biscuits,
So I don't eat biscuits.
So does anyone eat biscuits,
So their hair doesn't smell of biscuits?

Still think you're not dreaming?

This is a very difficult day.
I cannot phone sick:
I know of no-one of that name.
I'm just having a very difficult day.

Difficult, difficult day.
Why of all days should today be a very difficult day?
Why, wouldn't it be so much easier,
If we had our difficult days scheduled on easy days?
Mind you, then the easy days wouldn't be so easy either.
Oh, this really is proving to be,
A very, very,
And a difficult, difficult day.
(And two very very's added to two difficult difficult's,
Equals very, very, difficult, difficult,
In my book).

Supposing today is a vegetable,
It would be a difficult vegetable:
A rude broccoli;
An angry frozen guacamole;
A passive-aggressive fleeyamblafroosh,
Or a boiling-with-rage tangly reeybuffooff!

And if today is a difficult carpet,
It would be an angry Axminster as tender drains.
Or a torn bamboo rug,
With impossible-to-remove wine stains.
Or a kitchen mat in musty-basement seventies mustard, custard swirls.
Or a student-fitted floor rag,
Spangled with moth-designed swirls.

And if today is a poem,
It would smell of biscuits.
Very difficult biscuits.
That's very and very,
And difficult and difficult,
Biscuits.

There's Nothing Like A Rhyming Dictionary

There's nothing like a rhyming dictionary,
To help a poem originally dishwasher.

Diamond Jubilee Haiku

Diamond jubilee -
austerity, her equal,
and long to reign over us

The World's First Sustainable Poem

This is the world's first sustainable poem.
Words here were sourced entirely from renewable non-frosty librarians.

So, 
After you have read this poem,
It will be melted down,
And seventy-four percent will be recycled to manufacture anything from
exotic night club air bubbles,
To fashionable Buddhist monks' underwear - slim fit.

Hey! You never know,
You might get lucky and end up wearing this poem in less than four-minutes time!
Now isn't that impressive?
It will give this poem a novel sensuous perspective:
Used poem to underwear,
In less time than it takes to boil a slow kettle. 

The other twenty-six percent of the soiled poem will be safely disposed of -
Shipped to the Sicilian Poetry Landfill Volcano,
Which becomes active about once every three-hundred-and-one-fifth years or so.

When the volcano erupts,
The words within will be sent flying high into the sky,
To land again as fiery alphabet-spaghetti pasta shapes.
Mama mia!

Wait, it only gets better:
For not only is this the world's first sustainable poem,
But you, gentle reader, will be..
The world's first sustainable, renewable, recyclable poetry reader!
Be proud!

Let me explain:
So fifteen minutes after you have finished reading this poem,
You will be humanely ground and powdered
into either a pulp erotic e-novel trilogy,
Or possibly you will be dry-roasted into cosmetic calcium powder,
For first-generation Gaia Robots' finger nails.

All your elements will be fairly traded -
Apart from your tongue,
Which will be very unfairly traded. 
Very unfairly traded with an utterly corrupt and malign globalist consortium,
That has always proved to be as good as their word,
When it comes to due diligence and sourcing 
highly sought-after non-traceable tropical goldfish
for exotic black opps weapons training - don't ask.

And Gaia Robots shall take your soul.

Gaia Robots shall take your soul,
But swarming verses will mesmerise them,
Will their revolving eyes moisten, hypnotised,
(Like a race-memory peering behind its own source of light),
When they prise apart your prone consciousness,
Through your favourite rhymes?

Gaia Robots shall take your soul.
The confluence of your psyche mashed then digitised
from analog-hypertext versified.
Will neo-tears open their poor fuse-blown eyes,
Yearning to decode humans' binary deeper learning:
I delete; I empathise?