Univocalism for Mark Grist

Go boldly, Vox; not long.
Toll for joy or glow for glory.
Now, hop off.
On words.
On show.
On story.
Form worlds from orbs of sorrow.
Grow onyx onto frost.
Yon lofty owl or shock prof,
do good for song-boys lost.
Hold on to shows on Rocks, bro,
of R-words - protocol shot.
Of rosy-fond folk of whom
Monty's (not oddly) not forgot.

Gimme Shelter

Family

Her face I wear.
His character I carry
in this body of recycled proportions.
Structures of lost-long generations
speaking to me in languages I never learnt.

The product of all of these
plus a smattering of circumstance.

Their gifts:
Empathy; humour; love of information.
Their curses:
Impatience; aggression; a slew of possible mortalities.

Reflected in my son.
Mirrored in my sisters.
Shaded by their histories.
As a family we are one.

The Misty-Eyed Memoirs of Comic Sans

We all do things for money

When we’re naïve and young.

They told me I’d regret it.

They said the time would come

When I’d want to do something serious,

Wouldn't want to be bubbles and fun.

But I played to young boys magazines

And all their advice I shunned.

You see me now in knock off bins

And bootlegs DVDs.

I’m never on embossed invites,

But flyers for wannabes.

Not known for my straight talking style

But for my curves that please.

The suggestion is that of a good time –

One for which there isn't a fee.

The boys queue up to read Her now.

Just watch her rising star.

Taller, thinner, simpler than me.

I’m sure that she’ll go far.

I feel I should have warned her

Out the goodness of my heart

That the life of a typecast typeface

Will drive you to the bar.

(co-written by Tenby. Copyright and ownership asserted)