Augustus Young       light verse, poetry and prose
a webzine of new and unpublished work



I’m my own dog.
I walk myself,
an animal
without an owner.
Those who have sold
their canine souls
for false bones and pats
I must disown
Old Poet  Blues
Being Caesarean
I wasn’t cut out
to be loved.
Old Poet on Safari
I met Rimbaud on an African route one day
And asked for directions. He sent me the wrong way
Old Poet’s Friend
‘You’re overestimated .
You’re a waste of space’ 
‘I won’t be, I know my place.
I’m down to be cremated.
Failed Poet
My muse is out of fashion
as she likes to share a joke.
This makes me a failed poet.
Nevertheless, I bash on
hoping the facetious ground
will crack open under me,
and the abyss is profound
enough for prefab tropes whose
import is deadly serious.
‘Don’t make me laugh’, my muse
amuses herself. ‘Fame for us
will be predictably
boring as ideal couples, 
and the bottom line will be
a couplet.’ My muse chuckles,
‘Just leave the jollies prevail.
Our success will be to fail’.