…
a few too many
bumps to the head
a few too many
a few too many
a few too many
bumps to the head
a few too many
a few too many
a few too many
bumps to the head
a few too many
a few too many
yes, a few too many
bumps to the head
& a few more
for good measure
…
…
irk in cathode
catkin overload
cloven hoofed yoof
old mango skin
syntax wheelie bin
…
…
the reason why the morning
sunshine gave way
to shrouded clouds of grey
a dodo egg
or the mating rituals
of the lesser-spotted snark
the bee in the mitre
not the bonnet of the bishop
a birthday wish
since gone wrong
or a sausage roll with chips
plus beans & garlic bread
the sinkhole that appeared
in the middle of the car park
of your local b&m
someone else’s faux-profiles
of odd little me
on spicy websites
your long lost uncle
or the ghost of fanny adams
so try bloody harder
…
…
galactic gannets
the costerman’s spanner
a venturing in vest
apparently a porpoise
the formless, formerly
…
…
i have tennis elbow
but i don’t play tennis
yesterday was sunday
it was overcast all day
this is not a shopping list
but biscuits, bread – bananas
you’re a border collie
but born far from the border
…
…
the milkman’s mishaps
the matron’s ozempic face
the minstrel’s bad breath
the miller’s trapped wind
or the mayor’s hairy elbows
…
…
can the candlemaker
blow the candles
on his birthday cake?
does the grocer’s daughter
know her onions
like her father?
how far does the farmer
plough the field
before the seagulls
then descend
& feast upon
the worms that squirm in furrows?
will the wicked winter wind
frisk us all
fruzzen?
has the haberdasher
dashed
down to the harbour yet?
do the bible bashers
worship badgers
on the sly?
when will the spring
sing a hymn
like a poem thing?
…
…
biplane tickets
blackberry jam jar
pardon my parsnips
blessed be thy bumbles
last night the rain came
…
…
we became the pages
like the photographs
of the calendar’s turn
over & collapse
catch another breath then
whack the kettle on
formerly’s a rain cloud
once is now upon
i, the ‘nana milksop
shaken like a leaf
tumbles in the breezes
time is but a thief
you, the feathered future
darker than the crack
of a massive arse’ole
so shadows attack
furthermore it’s autumn
winter’s on its way
walk into the evening
as the mantis pray
’til the badgers samba
as the toadstools spore
roaming in the gloaming
knocking on death’s door
…
…
if the earth is flat
then eddie izzard is a woman
& hamas
are holding sausages
as hostages
…
resarf poetry 