Birthday poems for loved ones

Laura Gibson:

IDIOT! A garbled idiot suffix-esque xXPOEM-CO0OREXx from my bleeding, wounded, vaginal heart;

'I am Laura,'
spat the saggy wench.
'I am all undulating and welting,
...like cabbage in boiling broth.'
The crowd laughed and jeered, mocking her silly hat,
her gigantic, porsine feet,
and inarticulate demeanour.
They waited for nigh on an hour for her next lyric;
'I chug the man-sap,
chug, chug, chug...
woo-woo!'
The noise like a train approaching a tunnel that she made,
was eerily exact,
and the people wondered if she was a train,
as she did the famous dance 'The Locomotion,'
around the tattered, spit laden stage.

That's you that is. Happy Birthday my darling. Hope to see you soon.
Mx

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Allister Sawtell

DOUGH BISCUITS. I KNEAD YOU IN MY LIFE.

Allister sat upon the well.
The well he sat on, a sore tell-tale seat.
All is terrible (sort of, well)
...Stir all the daub,
Wattle become of the shacks we build.
Those same hollow, wholesome shacks now swinging in the Gulf breeze,
The wattle blows away,
Like farts from Biscuit bums.
'McGRAAAW' cries a petulant magpie.
'McGRAAAW, McGRAAAW,' sings the fat bellied, maggie maggie pag pie.
And Biscuits are broken,
in the hand of ancient ladies,
to dunk within tea,
sour tea,
splashed with sour milk,
stirred with sour spoons,
and sipped by bitter, sour lips.

The Biscuits are broken.
Long live the Biscuits.

x

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Mr Alex Burns: A Life In Pictures;

I, for all to see, am Mr Alex Burns,
I am a carer and giver,
Reciprocator of good deeds,
...Man of value, merit and might,
I scale rocks, and rock scales,
As I shunt, shunt and shunt,
A hairy mermaid twunt.

Happy Birthday.X

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Willis J Dearden

A Poem For William 'Jay-Sean' Dread'un...

'I Got yo' sexy back?'
Hey!
I want my Sexy back.
...You are older, and have developed a fine chin of stubblishness.
And in the womb of an innocent,
You have placed a devil-raptor.

It will pounce forth,
and lacerate the nurses' wobbling gusset.
Because that is you all over.
Gusset lacerating, dripping in fluid and placenta.

I wish you the best.
Though you need it not.
With your Napalm roars,
Arpeggiated tappings,
and aggrovated mind.

You need Sexy back.
Hay.
'I'm horsin' it.'
You would sing for McDonalds,
If you were still sell-out.

Don't buy in,
to the miracles (On 22rd Street)
it's all a lie.
And you are lucky.
And beautiful.
So well-wishings.

One day, I will sport a bandandandanda,
Happy birthday.
It's a time for reflection.
And you love yours the most.

Well Done! A+

x