From a collection entitled: Semantic Dissonance; or The Echelon Rink
Recently disused words and phrases, like modem, rude health and shambolic, get six feet undered
The tomb of the obsolete noun
More archaic anomalies are grouped in with misplaced punctuation and go up in smoke
The comma-torium
Crypt of the bulboid sect
Beseech, countermand, minion and vale are thus torched and cindered
Burned and urned
Parched and chimneyed
Pyre fodder reeks of dead tongues
Unfavourable contemporaries loiter a while in the lumber room splendour of preserved upper class estates
Newly wrapped in the silky denoue of the landed gentry their stars get reborn and shine
Oh baby the stars shine bright
You know; redacted, alas and fleet of foot
Whilst of the same ilk yet somewhat less palatable tools;
P*ki, third class and homosexual, receive gagging orders enveloped in super injunctions
They tried throwing these bad boys off the end of Margate Pier but they just washed back up at Chatham, re-routed through South London and morphed into a more virulent darker strain
Lingua e-coli
Superbugs for sharp shooters patronising infamous haunts that we called the nineteen eighties
Never again
Abbreviates don't die
They just squeal-screech out or nimbly wheel on by
Bus, pram, fax
Poets don't mind
We aggregate and discharge into a fluent contented meter
The fruits of our work glimmer, glare and peter
Slang, euphemisms and MTV street talk gather and rumble like late night summer storms, ensconced in a vacuum of culture and media brown nose conditioning
Orwellian with an irrepressible grasp
Sometimes here for the duration
Always steeped in controversy, they hit below the intellect and get learnt by imitation
The sleepwalking masses always fall at the first
The best thing about rain
It washes everything clean
For God's sake do something
Best take your chance
Church goers pray for it
Atheists dance
Recently disused words and phrases, like modem, rude health and shambolic, get six feet undered
The tomb of the obsolete noun
More archaic anomalies are grouped in with misplaced punctuation and go up in smoke
The comma-torium
Crypt of the bulboid sect
Beseech, countermand, minion and vale are thus torched and cindered
Burned and urned
Parched and chimneyed
Pyre fodder reeks of dead tongues
Unfavourable contemporaries loiter a while in the lumber room splendour of preserved upper class estates
Newly wrapped in the silky denoue of the landed gentry their stars get reborn and shine
Oh baby the stars shine bright
You know; redacted, alas and fleet of foot
Whilst of the same ilk yet somewhat less palatable tools;
P*ki, third class and homosexual, receive gagging orders enveloped in super injunctions
They tried throwing these bad boys off the end of Margate Pier but they just washed back up at Chatham, re-routed through South London and morphed into a more virulent darker strain
Lingua e-coli
Superbugs for sharp shooters patronising infamous haunts that we called the nineteen eighties
Never again
Abbreviates don't die
They just squeal-screech out or nimbly wheel on by
Bus, pram, fax
Poets don't mind
We aggregate and discharge into a fluent contented meter
The fruits of our work glimmer, glare and peter
Slang, euphemisms and MTV street talk gather and rumble like late night summer storms, ensconced in a vacuum of culture and media brown nose conditioning
Orwellian with an irrepressible grasp
Sometimes here for the duration
Always steeped in controversy, they hit below the intellect and get learnt by imitation
The sleepwalking masses always fall at the first
The best thing about rain
It washes everything clean
For God's sake do something
Best take your chance
Church goers pray for it
Atheists dance
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