I wonder if I can write
the sort of poems
that the eliterati produce,
after reading the
London Review of Books,
while cooking a Rick Stein recipe,
drinking gin and tonic,
or French wine,
and serving a ten course meal
to Nigella Lawson and Charles
Saatchi
that leaves her gasping
in the most elegant yet sensual manner
her tongue flickering like an adder
across her glossily carpeted scarlet lips
while her cleavage looks as tempting
as my mother’s breast did when I
was but an infant in arms.
I think I can probably bring in Heisenberg’s
new certainty principles
and my cat;
I liked to read The Listener,now defunct.alas.
Weren’t those the days,my friends.
Ah, for just one of them now.
Anyway in Dirac’s space there are four dimensions
…….I can feel for him..
I’m almost four dimensional in my living.
I could feel myself
Looking down on my sister from the ceiling
And thinking,Is that me?
Am I who?
However I descended again after some sleep,
And I made some earl grey tea.
It was very grey;
possibly I did not let it brew for long enough.
Thst’s the main question in life;
When is enough enough?
What is exactly the right time for action
And reaction?
Judgment,timimg,execution’
That sums it up.
Tea is quite wet,luckily..
I’m parched with the literati,
The flitorati,
And the fitorati.
All we wait for now is the notoriety.
Tempus fugit.
Sobriety.
Rhymes are u
How my heart sings 