~

bullocks in the graveyard ( daryevarg eht ni skcollub )

…

through the rotten fence
where the ash branch fell

on soaked oak posts
after indra bolted

came the storming hordes
of cloven hoofed yoofs

tagged like wrong’uns
out on parole

mooing for freedom
in the doldrums of june

cheeky fresian bastards
hared upon the greenery

fucking up the grass
chomping on the flowers

in the crystal vases
as the vicar legged it

larking like tomorrow
is a distant cousin

as the farmer napped
in the haybarn’s loft

death row’s fugitives
next month’s bourguignon

patted with aplomb
on your true love’s headstone

…

~

why the nuck fot? ( ?tof kcun eht yhw )

…

singing sea shanties
in the east midlands

building snowmen
in the amazon jungle

looking for smiths
in a chinese phone book

playing games of twister
with a goblin – on the moon

living in an igloo
on a solar spot

spoonerising on – yeah
– why the nuck fot?

writing the tripe
of another offal pun

shaving the hair
off a dolphin’s head

russian roulette
with your shadow at noon

all make more sense
than bugger all instead

…

~

dreams of the past ( tsap eht fo smaerd )

…

the twentieth century
is eating pot noodles

in a shell suit
while the miners strike

the nineteenth century
is reading frankenstein

dressed like jack the ripper
on the flying scotsman

the eighteenth century
is humming bars of mozart

in a river mill town
in a mantua gown

all the former centuries
old but never dead

dozing in a nursing home
between teatime & bed

…

~

f l o w i n g ( g n i w o l f )

…

f eathers on a breeze

      fists in the yeah

      first class stampedes

l eaves on the river

      lemons that blow

      lyrics from the otherland

o nce the cock is up

      onions shed their skins

      order is reborn

w aving like an x-ray

      waddle like a duckling

      when the tongue’s untied

i n between ebbs

      itchy rectal passages

      icing me cakehole

n evermore’s a nob’ead

      notes the spillage idiom

      now is a cloudburst

g lowing inside your

      golden noggin’s

      gobshite hinterland

…

~

the grocer’s folly ( yllof s’recorg eht )

…

stupidity

is muted youths

who feast on eastern

citrus fruits

~

young, dumb

& full of kum … quats

…

~

mark of the bees ( seeb eht fo kram )

…

a honeybee flew

into last night’s vindaloo

& now my ring stings

…