…
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
…
…
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
…
…
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
…
…
the pebble in your left
orthopaedic shoe
& rain last tuesday
a certain afterglow
in the sunset’s curtains
when we both squint
plus the cataracts
in the glass eyes
of the blind mortician
or the sparrows nesting
in the west wing
of the matron’s beard
the gnomes in the garden
that wink when we blink
perfectly in sync
like the lipstick smeared
on the vestigal nipple
of the bishop’s catamite
are all redder
than a blushing herring
square one beckons us back
…
…
five pints of thin air
two snark eggs
sugar-free sugar
salt-free salt
invisible flour
fat-free lard
four straws for clutching
half an ounce of nada
nut-free marzipan
ten spoons of mist
gluten-free gluten
three hen’s teeth
& a great imagination
…
…
the butler never did it
they railroaded him too
those sneaky widwits
the typewriter botherers
as whodunnit authors
are yet more rotten apples
& just as bent as coppers
or those limbo dancing hunchbacks
who loiter in the gents
toilet in the park
every friday luchtime
…
resarf poetry 