A friend on mine has a book out. (Well, he’s got a few, but anyway.)

A few years ago, I collected 144 of my poems into a book; I’m bringing it back into print for a few months in order to pay bills since my partner and I are both too sick to work. You can buy it from Lulu in the UK, US, and many other countries– usually it’s US$20, about £12, but at present it’s discounted to US$17, about £11.

http://www.lulu.com/shop/thomas-thurman/time-blew-away-like-dandelion-seed-paperback/paperback/product-21946300.html

There will also be a numbered and signed proper hardback edition of fifty; I’ll be doing that through Kickstarter and announcing it later this week.

Let me know if you have questions. And tell your friends!?

Thomas is a top bloke, one of life’s truly interesting characters, intelligent in a way that makes my head hurt, and deeply deeply funny. You may remember a campaign a little while ago to get Alan Turin on the five pound note? That was Thomas. Weapons grade dude.

I’ve not read the book myself (because I’m not overly poetic and only found out about it two minutes ago), but I figured, we’re an eclectic bunch so this might be up someone’s street, so thought I’d pass on the info in case it appeals.

This is my favorite:

Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
I can’t write poetry,
Bacon. 😀

*I believe that I first read this on another mtb website.

I bought a book of the poetry of Geoffrey Winthrop-Young the mountaineer. Most of his poetry (what I could read in the partially uncut book) is too melodramatic for me but I like this verse:

Then they heaped rocks and boulders mountain high
with stairs of snow up to Orion’s door.
And climbed together singing to the sky
and no one saw them go.

There was a young lady from Bude,
Who went for a swim in the nude.
A man in a punt
Stuck an oar in her Cont on p94

Do you weep, Mrs Thatcher, do you weep?
Do you wake, Mrs Thatcher, in your sleep?
Do you weep like a sad willow?
On your Marks and Spencer’s pillow?
Are your tears molten steel?
Do you weep?
Do you wake with ‘Three million’ on your brain?
Are you sorry that they’ll never work again?
When you’re dressing in your blue, do you see the waiting queue?
Do you weep, Mrs Thatcher, do you weep?

A. Mole

Pandora!
I adore ya.
I implore ye
Don’t ignore me.

A. Mole