…

a big cucumber

a pair of marigold gloves

& a tube of lube

…

…

seventeen down
an intermittent frown
podgy ankles
ten across
enochian grammar
& your swingball backhand

…

…

up again all nightmare
but the sun’s a sausage

sleepless is a friend of mine
we play musical chairs

with the village weasels
& pigs who sleep all day

while we walk the yawnings
of another morn’s daze

hazy’s my middle name
see the swifts gathering

up & in the ash tree
by the railway crossing

eyes & dotted t’s, please
fingers clutching something

other than the nothing
burger of the bugger’s

sods instead of oddness
but this is not normalzzz

so we roger not – no
portals call instead so

climb another anthill
me, myself & ivy

scribble in a notebook
float beyond the botlings

…

( author notes )

yes, the swifts were gathering
this morning, dear reader

well over a hundred
darting ninja stylee

they must be getting ready
to go back to africa

they were swirling around
almost like a murmuration

i’ve never seen anything
quite like it – no

then back into the same
ash tree they sat

top that for an auspicious marvel

…

…

why it might rain by teatime

the siege of antioch

cold shepherd’s pie

the gap between the train

– & the grey platform

life beneath europa’s ice

when the cows come home

– who will milk their udders?

how to spot a leopard

…

…

moss from millstones
dust from the dead

strobe lights, bicycles
perhaps a woolly mammoth

ash from the embers
twigs & remembers

last night’s reverie
frankincense & fragments

next week’s while away
wednesday’s woven scarf

long john silver’s
long lost cousin

ghengis khan’s
godson christopher

mister kipling’s
tart on the side

more raw garlic bulbs
gingko biloba

five gold rings
atomic cuckoo clocks

two juicy melons
plus me lucky pencil

magic carpet burns
& a skeleton key

…

( author notes )

god save sausage roll to yuh

gave sausage roll to yuh

put it in the soul of everyone

…

…

twelve leaf blowers droning

eleven headless horsemen

ten conkers falling

nine poets mincing

eight menopausal maidens

seven shepherds lost in fog

six pumpkins souping

five guy fawkes

four bangers scaring

three tupped ewes

two skeins of geese

& a pixie on a toadstool

( amen )

…

…

see the botling buggers

poles thrusting upward

harder than smoke

screwing the blue

with twelve golden stars

or yellow instead

slava war-mongers

or oh so bravely now

around the rainbow’s rim

or up the unions jacksy

because some jug-eared nonce

or someplace in the desert

that’s none of their beeswax

might tickle their software

hashtag that

– fucking flag shaggers

…