Sympathists

Nonsense Poems

The Taxi Driver Had No Teeth

the taxi driver had no teeth
and did not know his way
soon enough I began to seethe
but knew not what to say

the taxi driver circled the block
and circled round again
I did not know just where we were
but recognized where we’d been

the hapless, toothless taxi driver
took another right
a fear rose up in my chest
this could go on all night

the taxi driver holds his rider
in a kind of cell
when your driver loses the plot
the ride becomes pure hell.

Matthew: September, 2009

The paperless office

The paperless office is dead
It’s long since been put to bed
Though we claim to ‘ave gone green
You must know what I mean
The paperless office’s been stood on it’s head

The paperless office has flipped
The idea was just a blip
We print quite promiscuously
Use A4 insistently
The paperless office papers on at a clip

The paperless office’s defunct
The concept has flat-out flunked
The paradox being
We’re surrounded by screens
But the paperless office is sunk

Matthew: April, 2009

Overdue Haircut

I’m gonna get my haircut soon
maybe in the month of June
man, it’ll be smooth

Way up in Bostontown
to Atlanta they’ll get down
with the news

I’ll have girls on every hand
who’ll all think I’m the man
I can’t lose

Yeah I’ll play that haircut game
to popular acclaim
among gentiles and Jews

Matthew: July 2007

The Proposal

A potatoey fellow
skin papery yellow
Proposed to you once in the rain
But though he bleated intently
From the back of his Bentley
You said ‘potato, you give me a pain’

Matthew: circa 1998?

The Pomegranate

The pomegranate is essential to the sophisticated palate
Far more evolved than onion, watercress or shallot

Matthew: probably 1996

Inspired by Robyn Hitchcock

The urge to pen nonsense descending
This seems an appropriate forum
For all my synapses are blending
And my skull has become rather warm

Hurrah for men in long white beards
Kris Kringle and Komani
Who, hypnotized, disclose deep fears
Of the seamstress Miss Delany

‘Cause there’s a mistake with a head-cold
There’s a death-wish with nine lives
There’s a blowpipe with a blindfold
And it’s stalking both your wives

There’s my niece in a wave function
A control freak in a kilt
And they waltz without compunction
On the philosophy you built

When skeletons meet
Bones get up on their feet
For square dancing
The mandibular dreamers
Mirrored a group of gay femurs
And they all started prancing

Yes, the babe he loves best is his manageress
But she’s frigid
Everytime she comes round
His spirits get down
But he’s rigid (so rigid)

The houses she owns
Are deliberate clones
Of the suburbs
Lights go on with a clap
Every mouse to its trap
In the cupboards

I found a crème-egg in a fern
It was hatching and snatching in turn
I chose not to come all that close
For fear that it might be verbose

Oh, I wish I could write an acrostic
And that chemicals weren’t so caustic.
I wish that my lunch-trays were blue
Or speckled like they are at the zoo

But quarrels came as quarrels will
Concerning pilfered cherries
When I got up to press a pill
Some bastard thieved my necessaries

A creaking neck, a morbid thought
The story of an evening
We wish we were what we are not
And now I must be leaving.

Matthew: Spring 1996

Jerome

In a glade near his home
Lurked a boy called Jerome
When he met with the sight of the devil
Who asked for his soul
In a tupperware bowl
With a voice smug, and typically level

Though of manner quite mild
The cunning wee child
Prepared a surprise for the devil
Who felt thoroughly deceived
As the soul he received
Belonged to the neighbor’s boy, Nevil

Matthew: circa 1994

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