…
unwritten yesterday’s
rediscovered poem
spidery strokes
stokes no coalite since
unremembered gist
knicker twisted mist
must & dust settled
any disagreements
gardens overgrew
no rosetta stoner
could decode those scrawlings
those mute changelings
we became the same
flame until the candle
had the last laugh
belfries chiming off
but still the bellend sings
kiss my arcadia
…
…
singing us back
mister bump & tickle
tony the tiger
exmoor ponies
next turn for coleslaw
walking pole to pole
freon in his veins
radio derby ram
darth vader’s head
gathering detritus
fridge magnet man
semi-skimmed insides
cool like the blind
with their shades indoors
white plastic skin
him of ants in pantries
humming like a sleeping bee
give him souvenirs
your trinkets & your life
– it’s another stick-up
…
…
~
yesterthen’s scribbles
went elsewhere
like your uncle after
~
the operation went wrong
since is not a song
or even in key
~
croaks the morning pheasant
& big bo peep
– little’s older sister
~
retracing steps
the sort that fingers make
is fruitless indeed
~
like a greengrocer
that only sells veg
so even no tomatoes
~
oh, where art thou?
huffs the pen – like a cow
herd in an unhaunted farmhouse
~
darker than before
it’s not in your notepads
or stuffed in your desk drawers
~
sputum & dust then
another lost poem
missing – presumed immortal
…
…
tattoos will never make
anyone more interesting
if anything
the opposite is true
i stay well away from
people who watch t.v
none of my few friends have
personalised number plates
…
…
march, march
a lion roaring in
like an irate lamb
march, march
a mad bastard hare
is boxing fog & puddles
march, march
the starch on your pants
another laundry daydream
march, march
a troupe of baboons
escaped from the zoo’s confines
march, march
the shape of tomorrow
is leafen & somewhat green
march, march
the cherry blossom zen
overloads – then explodes
march, march
a lamb baas, leaving
like a sleeping lion
…
…
my only friends are
rosy cheeked midget men
fishing by the garden pond
hoping that a goldfish
will tickle their tackle
…
…
black velcro crows
yes, it’s one of those
stuck on the sky
lost in my true
highness of the welkin
fridge magnet alphabet
cotton wool water
rubbing like balloons
look at those weirdos
floating in sweet blueness
we’re upon the meadows
over earthly clover
in medieval hoodies
longer than a raincoat
not the latest smear
steering clear of drizzle
gawping for britannia
mooning with the moon
this is how the clouds grey
but mayfly live forever
gulliver’s ghost
is a bright white pigeon
nature is my second
cousin twice removed
…
…
dogs won’t bury you
or chew you in the bandstand
you juicy trumpets
…
…
inserting turnips
where the sun don’t stroke
sack the t.v chef
guillotine the d.j
chastise the m.p
rage at the bots
the what’s & the not’s
the lollipop lady
that eats her own roadkill
twisting frilly knickers
y-fronts & what the fuck’s
gasping pantomimes
the a.i e-thot
that ran out of code
so the cloud devoured her
read all around it
the pilchard poet
that wore odd socks again
dot them dots then
droning like a chainsaw
whispering foghorns
huffing all morning
twatting all the mirrors
steaming ’til evening
…
…
most bananas are sunday
candles help us see in the yellow
bramble bushes have darkness
gardeners have green thorns
the seventh day is fingers
…
resarf poetry 