blog

tisnart ni

…

the wheels on the bus

of the rail replacement service

      go round & round – when

      the unions put their foot down

until the traffic lights

turn blue for a change

      as that cosmic trickster

      is a constant spanner

as the sails on the boats

waiting for the isobars

      to clash like a martian

      in a red spacesuit

in between gusts

settle like the dust

      onto the cobwebs

      inside your nan’s knickers

so the wings of the planes

of origami airlines

      fly like a crane

      or a scrumpled ball of paper

into the recycling bin

of back to the drawing board

      until that effing drawing board

      is reinvented

…

the infotainment scamp

…

i’ve been to b&m
& bought a bag of birdseed

every other breakfast
is a teatime in disguise

elvis lives
in your uncle’s secret hayloft

a teaspoon of honey
instead of sugar

ninety nine percent
of poets have piles

ten of your go on some mores
is four country miles

the capital of egypt
is actually e

cairo is a city
& not in fact a letter

showerproof cagoules
do eff all in a cloudburst

eight percent of astronauts
have ian as their middle name

joan of bloody arc
never jumped the queue in farmfoods

the loch ness monster
sometimes lurks in the serpentine

…

miss ing

…

~
she went on a walk
for a country mile or two
on a wet tuesday in april
~
while pigeons shat
on the mayor’s car parked
outside the town hall ( in town )
~
& laundry maids
sang old, raunchy ballads
about the price of bread – & thereabouts
~
off she upped & went
with a knapsack packed
with lucozade & tracker bars
~
most polar bears
have never seen a ghost
& not all birds can sing
~
a piece of string
is the distance of its span
– no one’s spotted her since

…

august or bust

…

august or bust
the mugwart is calling

hello from the hedgerows
the blackberries beckon

a jigsaw above us
in herringbone pieces

the stone in your trainers
is fit for a peach

the morn’ is a muddle
the even’ tiptoes

the nettles still sting though
– yes, it’s one o’ those

so august or bust
octavian’s ghost

is prodding with twigs
& canes from the bean frame

…

a great acrostic …

…

b isto gravy granules, bat boxes, busybodies

r ed brick polytechnics, riddles, roast parsnips

i roning boards, ivy, iron age hill forts

t owpaths, toad-in-the-hole, trainspotters in anoraks

a nother lute solo, am-dram, apple pips

n ightmarish hellhounds, n.h.s death cults

n ob’eads, nettles, numpties – nonces on t.v

i tching powder tricksters, idiots in parliament

a valon, a bus fare home, a twat on the throne

…

in this still

…

hummingbirds glide by
with not a hum between ’em

butterflies becoming
their moth-like alter egos

green goes blacker
on this gland of hope & glory

fields fade a shade
of bugger off to bedfordshire

normies snore
like a corpse in a deep freeze

busybodies stop
waving their latest flag – or banner

even poets pause
& scratch their hairy bollocks

shepherds were delighted
at the redness in the heavens

…

( author notes )

& apparently – catalytic converter theft
is on the rise again

due to the lure
of their so-called  – precious metals

i’ve not got ’round
to writing a poem about it yet

but stay vigilant everyone
– together we can beat this

…

yet more bird news

…

hawks are on the rise

      since hawks were reclassified

as any creature

      with feathers & a beak

rising from the ashes

      like a hawk from the flames

as all the hawks quack

      by the blanks of the river

yet one hawk

      does not a summer make

& we can’t resist the smell

      of tandoori hawk masala

since the twitchers turned

      those ornithologists

shunned taxonomy

      & got rid of the goalposts

– look, there goes a hawk

      black & squawking so

up above the hedgerow

      formerly a crow

but no, another hawk

      r.s.p.b that ( y’ twat )

& a hawk sang

      in that there berekely square

…