lemon lententide


lemon lententide  (  editnetnel nomel  )

swans upon a blossoming

boxing hares & swivel chairs

bicycles & icicles

cycles cyanide

diabetic hierophant

kiss the blizzard's lizard lips

broken biscuit blitherings

dog & bona fide

catalytic christenings

spin within the crystal air

is there life on marzipan?

lemon lententide

flapping phantom handlebars

purple myrtle myrmidons

mercury's a silver stream

rivers mystified



another fucking leap year poem


another fucking leap year poem  (  meop raey pael gnikcuf rehtona  )

january has fleas

but february is feathery

as spring sparks larks in march

& april's acrobaticals

with faith in may's eight maidens

looping blooming june's moons

higher in july

& hopping forth in august

'til september's ninja squirrels

& the bog frogs of october

float over november's ghost

december's dead

- & then

( ? )



daze of the week


daze of the week  (  keew eht fo ezad  )

gravy train maelstroms

mutant moon monday

jumble sale foxtrot

turn the shrew tuesday

lemon curd bird bath

feather head wednesday

winter war roses

inner-spin thursday

blow your own gnosis

hideaway friday

ink in scrawl doses

thatterway - saturday

pickle under onion skin

daze of the week

blather green bean bag

( runaway sunday )



revolution 432


revolution 432  (  234 noitulover  )

seasons gleamings

feathered friends



cotton cloud


sputters utter

spiders spin


pickled cabbage



spins the middle

of the month's


crunching numbers

thunder drums


so, a poem

rivers twist


summer salad

ballads suck


seven sisters

cygnus sings


silver bullets

scatter graphs

long johns

startled starlings

starting go's


pocus hocus

broken toe




( author notes )

i stole the title of this poem from a book

revolution 432 is the name of a chapter

in the cygnus key by andrew collins

a fascinating read

which didn't really inspire this little scribble

beyond me nicking the title

but credit where credit's due

as all forms of plagiarism are utterly deplorable



i sigh with my spittle aye –


i sigh with my spittle i –  (  – eya elttips ym htiw ym htiw hgis i  )

i sigh

with my spittle aye

the lies in the eyes

of woodland weasels

the dung on the tongue

of spineless spies

bees in a sonnet

& village busybodies

barking at snarks

& parping with parsnips

flaps with the bats

gaslights & gobshites

spouting out venom

& running from echoes

the hare in a snare

is their own silhouette