poopling soup recipes #51

there was a dawg who smoked a stovepipe
and he drank whiskey like a drainpipe 
in the clouds he did soar 
his laugh sounded like thor 
that ol' dawg with the rarest blood type

©bg 2022

author's notes- not a Limerick it's a lymberbrick

r.i.p friend 

the sins of the father

Bullyboy stopped
hitting me 
with his 
storm twisted  
windmill blades 
when he began 
storing 
in the schools 
cleaning closet
i had the 
key for 
his 
intoxicating 
chattering 
bottles of gin
he sold 
lunch time 
on fridays 

his customers
included 
the 
emo seagulls 
that flocked 
about 
and the 
type cast 
cool lads 
and the 
hot girls 
they had 
weekend 
parties with 

Bullyboy would 
drop by 
now and then 
after
i'd finished 
my work of
mopping away 
the days 
education 
off the floors

he'd twist
open a bottle
sit at the 
teacher's desk 
and 
chat 
over gin 
like 
we were 
old friends  


he'd been an altar boy
he'd killed his pet dog 
then his folks split up 
his older brother 
was a 
retired lay assistant
as well 
now an  
entrepreneuring bootlegger 
they lived with their dad  
a womanising pilot 
Bully's girlfriend 
was one of those 
"hot new 
asian girls"
and 
when she kissed him 
"her tongue  
probed 
his mouth
like a stiff 
little cock"
he told  

Bullyboy 
retired 
as a student 
joined the army 
got the boot 
for shooting 
his instructor 
sergeant Arse 
in the arse 
and had 
at some point 
exited the world 
stage right 
unforgiven 
by the time 
3 worn out 
scholarly 
years on 
i trudged 
home 
one bright day 
to find a
fantail flying
in and out 
of our 
wolf proof house

mother 
had been chattering 
over
the towns border fence 
with old Iris
our neighbour 
and 
had dark news 
" Rumple
you remember 
that
Father Clown who
chased after us 
to get you 
to be his 
altar boy 
well  he's just
been locked up
for  
sexually molesting 
those poor souls   

my gut chunned 
my head spun 
i finally 
understood  
Bullyboy's
comparison

©bg 2022



authors note 
In Māori mythology, the pīwakawaka (fantail) was responsible for the presence of death in the world.So seen in a house is thought to be  bad luck as it is seen as a  harbinger of death. 
in my poem pīwakawaka is just the harbinger of bad news. 

the one that got away

she was 
gorgeousness 
pearched 
in my 
heavens orbit 
i
drank rum 
she 
drank water 
while 
smoking a cig 

lets go back
to yours 
she said 
interrupting me 
on my way 
to finishing 
my faith 

in and out 
she weaved 
speeding ahead 
of me 
through expensive 
late night shopping 
traffic crashes

crazy bitch 
i yelled 
at bob
the wailing 
car radio
she 
don't know
wheres i live

holy whores 
and 
gifts from hell
i muttered 
as i 
looked through
my dirty 
windscreen 
at the 
mad angel
sitting 
posing
dangerously 
erotic  
on her boot
in her 
thigh high boots 
dominating 
another cig 
in my drive 
i smiled
between the squeaking 
wipers 
not wanting to scare
my 
friday night 
angelic lay
away

after the 
debauchery 
with a 40 oz 
glasss club 
now
in my hand 
i confessed 
i thought 
i'd lost her
she 
laughed 
you brought me back
last week 
you drunk dope 
she squealed 
as she 
punctureated 
her displeasure
at my 
black out 
by 
stabbing me
with her 
burning cig 

shit 
i thought 
as i 
gulped 
some slave rum 
from my 
glass club 
to try 
and 
flush out a memory  
and 
with some relief 
she wasn't 
as dangerous 
a physco
as i thought

©bg 2022