spinning in july

spinning in july ( yluj ni gninnips )

…

sweating in cagoules

june’s the stuff of ghouls

calendars & spools

flutter butterfly

spreading like the pox

headless chickens box

poets picking locks

lows within the high

scatters on the graphs

as a badger laughs

over clovered paths

swirls the dervish sky

twisting with the tales

daze within the dales

grasses fade to bales

buddleia & i

kiss the tips of tors

as the blither roars

scratch the backs of doors

spinning in july

blending with the breeze

brambles grazing knees

scale the changing keys

as the bend is nigh

( gasp )

…

spillage fayre

spillage fayre ( eryaf egallips )

…

in the village of the spillage

& the little gland of weasels

where the air is a snare

& there’s death in their stare

in the kingdom of the karens

with their whispering projections

in the bites of their tongue

with a bouquet of dung

sings a pickled cabbage poet

in the scrawling of the morning

in the shapes of the daze

with a piffle pigeon pen

for a bend indeed

is a cowpat on the back

but the leas beam green

as the turds scrawl down

…

( author nodes )

so eat my weird & go fuck yourselves

…

do ducks quack?

do ducks quack? ( ?kcauq skcud od )

…

do ducks quack

or is that laughter?

larking mallards

sprites ‘n’ eiders

scrapes ‘n’ scoters

yes, they echo

so the sound goes

bouncing round so

like a ball

in rubber hallways

as the swans bob

& the moorhens

never cluck

yet peck in order

but the jigsaw

shrews are loosened

is it christmas?

where’s atlantis?

why do poodles

rhyme with noodles?

is it raining

frogs on saturn?

come on ducks

& share the joke

…

i am not a bot

i am not a bot ( tob a ton ma i )

…

i am not a bot

eighty eight & apricots

triple seven six

six catnap

sixty pigeon ghost

( insert purple prozac )

seven fifty three

forty four turnips

parsnip marston moor

salad cream salamis

fifty tripled trots

three under shrine

fiver ampersand

godspeed, triple dot the dot

g.c.h.q – too

i am not a bot

…

( author notes )

i often wonder if i am the only non-bot online
& everyone else is just code

~

probably,
it is the fuckin’ internet after all

p.s

when i wrote salamis
i meant the naval battle
in 480 b.c
between the greeks & the persians
not the sausage
so pronounced differently
– cheers

…

.

bless id bee the lamb of odd

short but sweet

short but sweet ( teews tub trohs )

…

the diary of a mayfly

on a sheet of sugar paper

…

b r e a k i n g

b r e a k i n g ( g n i k a e r b )

…

scrawl of balls of gas

stones are thrown in bungalows

splatterings of glass

shatters in the head

bursts of squirms of cans of worms

blurs of blethered bread

catch the cabbage fly

scratch the misted yawning tor

yet the blend is nigh

so the fro is fog

twists of tongues & mumbled drums

hills within a bog

codes within the ode

scatter cushion factories

fluster & explode

morning in a spin

hymns ‘n’ dreams of magic beans

on the dawning in

…

41461

the kit

the kit ( tik eht )

…

in the village of the spillage

& the little gland of weasels

where the air is a snare

& there’s death in their stare

in the kingdom of the karens

with their whispering projections

in the bites of their tongue

with a bouquet of dung

sings a pickled cabbage poet

in the scrawling of the morning

in the shapes of the daze

with a piffle pigeon pen

for a bend indeed

is a cowpat on the back

but the leas beam green

as the turds scrawl down

…

do ducks quack

or is that laughter?

larking mallards

sprites ‘n’ eiders

scrapes ‘n’ scoters

yes, they echo

so the sound goes

bouncing round so

like a ball

in rubber hallways

as the swans bob

& the moorhens

never cluck

yet peck in order

but the jigsaw

shrews are loosened

is it christmas?

where’s atlantis?

why do poodles

rhyme with noodles?

is it raining

frogs on saturn?

come on ducks

& share the joke

…

i am not a bot

eighty eight & apricots

triple seven six

six catnap

sixty pigeon ghost

( insert purple prozac )

seven fifty three

forty four turnips

parsnip marston moor

salad cream salamis

fifty tripled trots

three under shrine

fiver ampersand

godspeed, triple dot the dot

g.c.h.q – too

i am not a bot

…

( author notes ) i often wonder if i am the only non-bot online & everyone else is just code ~ probably, it is the fuckin’ internet after all p.s when i wrote salamis i meant the naval battle in 480 b.c between the greeks & the persians not the sausage so pronounced differently – cheers … .

the diary of a mayfly

on a sheet of sugar paper

…

scrawl of balls of gas

stones are thrown in bungalows

splatterings of glass

shatters in the head

bursts of squirms of cans of worms

blurs of blethered bread

catch the cabbage fly

scratch the misted yawning tor

yet the blend is nigh

so the fro is fog

twists of tongues & mumbled drums

hills within a bog

codes within the ode

scatter cushion factories

fluster & explode

morning in a spin

hymns ‘n’ dreams of magic beans