…
a pheasant cock struts
on the wet railway sleepers
in between steam trains
…
…
a pheasant cock struts
on the wet railway sleepers
in between steam trains
…
…
tap dancing pirates?
that’s beelzebub’s bidet
perhaps a pigeon
~
berry picking guests
yet opposing saxophones
goading gossamer
~
tram station prologue
will it rain gravy today?
& yet this pheasant
~
ad hoc astronomers
dodecahedron nosejob
four omelettes each week
~
decibel ringers
kiss jacobite in tutu
rumplestiltskin’s chin?
…
…
a bowl of cornflakes
again but instead of milk
– milk of magnesia
…
( author notes )
june is pride month
as i’m sure we all can’t help
but ‘effing notice
so i’d like to take this opportunity
to announce to the world
that i too am a trans
but i’m not a transgender
like a chap in a dress
or a gimp in a crèche
tossing off the curate
– no,
i’m trans-star sign instead
or more precisely
i’m a pisces born in a gemini’s body
i’ve always known i was trans-star sign
ever since i was a sprat
come the 27th of february
i’d hurry downstairs
expecting gifts & a chocolate cake
but nothing
for three whole months
until the 27th of may
because of science, time & societal norms
this was deeply hurtful
& designed to destroy my true self
but the those fascist bigots failed
big time
& although i despise all clichès
i really do feel that the tide is turning
yes, acceptance is only one
well-funded quango away
& soon my kind will have their own stripe
on the magic rainbow flag too
& hopefully some sort of operation
perhaps some artificial gills
or scales on my skin
possibly from some sort of
experimental booster shot
free on the n.h.s
( we all need more of them )
so long live pride
& respect my beautiful bravery
or else
thank you for love & understanding
( amen )
…
…
settle in the dusk
with your ears still ringing
yesterday’s fingers sweat
clutching pheasant feathers
far below the window
lies another sky
high above the sun
is a secret for the ages
pages after pages
abramelin’s mages
missus porter’s daughter
is pimped on the dark web
mister kipling’s missus
left him for the milkman
at the second right
turn left again
part the wave’s functions
like the centre parting
which is gently combed
on the palms of your hands
scatter like the flight
of a herringbone sunset
barking up the bark
of a dogwood’s trunk
…
…
june too soon
in the wink
of an eye
from the booming sun
or a blink
is july
…
…
vino
grapes
this season’s toga
& must-have sandals
roses for cleo
viagra
stuffed dormice
nasal trimmers
sand & cement
( for rendering )
all of gaul
salad things
stab vest
…
…
now he’s in heaven
professor steven hawking
mud wrestles angels
…
( author notes )
i’ve been thinking a lot about
professor stephen hawking
again recently
not so much for his science
i.e writing some unreadable bollocks
about time & blackholes
or inventing the daleks
on his home planet of skaro
no, not that professor stephen hawking
but the singer, professor stephen hawking
his unique range, tone & delivery
on tracks like the club banger
blue with eiffel 65
or around the world
his daft punk collaboration
or of course – we are the robots
his sick kraftwerk mash-up
now, that to me
is professor stephen hawking
his one-off style
a true maverick
such an underrated vocalist
probably the vox g.o.a.t
but he lives on in his music
( amen )
…
…
dearest athlete’s foot,
the bitch to end all itches
you funky fungal swine
i’ve known you since super glue
was still super
as gorilla glue
still hadn’t been invented
yes, i met you when
magician’s assistants
could split themselves in two
& everyone drank
vanilla yazoo
since swimming at school
cold changing room floors
you’ve bullied me
& stalked me all my lifespan
like your sister blister
& uncle verruca
you’ve picked on both my pediments
the left & the other
& pecked like a crow
in between the toe
sore red sores
from your phantom spores
so i say – no more
a hurtin’ & a harmin’
i know you’ll never change
so i apply daktarin
( take that )
…
…
summer, summer
sand in sandwiches
cuckoo spit
goose bumps & goosegrass
summer, summer
nettles stinging kneecaps
b.o & beeswax
factor two hundred
summer, summer
stampeding bullocks
fat spring lambs
& another maiden over
summer, summer
a thorny rose garden
jars of picalilli
as another midgey bites
summer, summer
johnny-cum-lately
rediscovers outdoors
( where were you in january? )
summer, summer
toms in the greenhouse
blueberry skies
& lobster red gingers
wonder, wonder
will the bishop notice
your varicose veins
& leg-tat’ of him?
summer, summer
golden bales of hay
after a cloudburst
another lovely day
…
…
woden’s tide is hi
it’s tuesday, episode two
backwards – yadsendew
…