a poem in between the blanks

  • blank –
    a river runs dry
    like a jogger on the moon
  • blank –
    normie afternoons
    watching sportball bollox
  • blank –
    the latest untrue goss
    about yours truly
  • blank –
    friends on the internet
    that you’ve never met
  • blank –
    three gulps left
    of this shat cappuccino
  • blank –
    easter makes more sense
    somewhere in october
  • blank –
    battered haddock, chips
    mushy peas & curry sauce
  • blank –
    early bird plods
    along these empty footpaths
  • blank –
    the sweet life & times
    of a custard cream
  • blank –
    the rearranged dream
    of yer country cousin

life as it unhappens

illegible & others too

illegible, the message read
‘yer dinner’s in the potting shed’
impossible, the painter cried
to catch the scale of heaven’s wide

impeccable, the chicken clucked
a west wind blew, yer sister sucked
illusory, the curate claimed
& all the bots online were blamed

a hedgerow poet scribbled once
the abrahamic god’s a nonce
& other gods live in this green
the middle east is not my scene

industrious, the playwright minced
the breakfast plates are washed & rinsed
intentional, the milkman knew
a flying pig would scale the blue

unscrambled easter eggs