…
i stand with the snakes
the slugs & the snails
i blame the blameless
& the teachers of the parents
i was so offended
when the bots were not offended
i vote for so & so
& i despise the othered them
i think they should bring back
dodos & echoes
i agree – mixed aggregates
are a sort of lottery
i heart emojis
& shag the current thing flag
my condolences
to the latest dead z-lister
…
…
atomic number twenty
the fifth most abundant
element on earth
as seen in limestone
gypsum or chalk
oh, builder of bone
you’re two ninety nine
for thirty tablets
in boots
…
( author notes )
boots is a shop
in case you’ve never heard of them
…
…
undone in tongue
cloudy lemonade sky
ten past parsnips
when clocks then
orange squash with ice
ten mile amble
poundland socks
athlete’s foot spa
pepperoni possibly
pizza the puzzle
backdoor quiche
a flan in your back yard
marmite prevailed
garamond letterheads
table tennis elbow
six willow warblers
…
blessed bee thy bumbles
thy stumbles & thy staggers
but there’s daggers in the eyes
of the hi-vis enforcers
~
voltaire’s horse
bolted after thunderclaps
captain birdseye’s cousin
will meet you in the cubicles
~
bring your own sandwiches
& speak unspoken languages
fear the lollipop
the lady of mortlake
~
crematorium
we’re scrawling down in lieu
yes, in memoriam
plodded like all tennyson
~
the dismal drear of yesteryear
yes, drizzle disappear
a momentary tortoise shell
a herring-red admiral
~
or hannibal, the punic wars
but animals in human form
will scowl us tossers to
& fuckers fro, then home
…
…
ban banjos
ban banisters
ban banquo’s ghost
ban bandannas
ban the bloody bandstand
ban bandwagons
ban banjaxing bantamweights
ban the banal bandits
ban the banker’s banquet
…
…
blücher the future
like a loveable brogue
in the mud or snow
or walking on the shiny moon
– yes, give it some welly
…
…
may, may
a day & a pole
yes, perhaps a horsy foal
prancing on the pastures
like a young queen camilla
or anne hathaway
– that-a-way beckons
may, may
the aquilegia soar
all is an almond
if reason is the rhyme
then it’s time for swingball
pan faked it all
like an ancient john darwin
may, may
the dead were never dead
said the makeshift scarecrow
to the crickets in the thicket
& the cuckoos in your mind
as a snark sings hymns
in the throbbing hedgerow
may, may
where the gnomes sunbathe
as the milking maids
gargle pink lemonade
barefoot on the garden lawn
dawn is a yellow
wagtail’s egg
may, may
trainers or walking shoes
hoodie not jacket
scibbles in a notepad
gladder than sir galahad
glowing goes my muse
deep green be thy elbows
…
…
lo-fi in hi-fi
an astronaut in asda
dry robes in the midlands
pikes on bikes & scooters
bluebirds of inner-earth
…
…
yes, i am just that chaffinch
upon your step-godmother’s
vintage bird table
pecking at the stale crusts
of her seedy rye bread
…
…
bend another then
the colour of your elbows
is turning in vernal
~
shades of vivaldi
his pizzas & hotels
or the winter of your mind
~
the gaps between the trees
where the birds bristle
the mistle thrush & robin
~
hoods on & hats down
in the cellar’s cool
cucumber harvest
~
festival fare
maidens & morris men
parsnips & panpipes
~
bursting big cloudy
lemonade bubbles
up from below
~
fibre in each flex
limbs & begin
when forever’s floating
…
