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pears & thereabouts

~

pears & thereabouts ( stuobaereht & sraep )

…

misshapen apples
unmistakably them

merry of the perry
mutants of the fruit world

there in the orchard
where partridges roost

cousins of quince
twins untwinned

fit for a tart
perchance a bar of soap

drops, juice or raw
with a cup o’ rosie lee

watch while they ripen
bulbous like a fatso

pick them two by two
each is unique

…

( author notes )

” you don’t get anything for a pear

– not in this game “

( old trad-anon proverb – at least medieval )

…

a night in the wilds

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a night in the wilds ( sdliw eht ni thgin a )

…

a little owl growls
& a frog in a bog – howls
so a badger croaks

hark, a moth flutters
& the branches drip like gutters
as the marshland smokes

wafting wisp’s o’ willow
where the sedges are my pillow
& the teasel teases me

or upon the moors
where the hare squawk on all fours
with the fae & she

face the blankless bright
when the woodlands whistle shite
crows the hedgerow’s hog

so the chorus glows
caw the jackdaws in the close
squawking with the dog

…

still overrated

~

still overrated ( detarrevo llits )

…

life as a normalzzz

four-four music

processed pop pap

the plods of a bot

shiny sweatshop shoes

sliced white bread

( bring back bread knives )

black suits at funerals

the kung-flu jib-jab

staying in your lane

net zero none sense

protein shakes

the latest thing’s hot cakes

christmas ( not yule )

magnums & cornettos

cucumber sandwiches

all those fucking poems

especially those sonnets

with cobwebs in their bonnets

the bloody london eye

& binley mega chippy

…

umbrella standpoint

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umbrella standpoint ( tniopdnats allerbmu )

…

possibly a thirty three

see the grey wagtails

later on – i’ll eat my pie

like the great wall of china

hence the green backdoor

six pence in change

she’s had the painters in

oliver cromwell’s uncle

it makes the womb look bigger

the forty fourth of february

pleuronectes platessa

monster trucks on the moon

…

( author notes )

britain isn’t in morning

because it’s gone midday

…

( autumn isn’t spring )

~

( autumn isn’t spring ) ( gnirps t’nsi nmutua )

…

cuckoos sleep in their clocks

& in their cloudy land

      the daffodils are noted

      only by their absence

as the air is crisping

like a baked potato skin

      – hark, a parsnip parps

      ‘pon a brassy breeze

blast the phantom gas

moss is green – not grass

      babylon is fucked again

      up the arse ‘n’ all sorts

atlantis gargles

arthur snores on avalon

      – doors, doors, doors

      & all with creaky hinges

the days are getting dimmer

like a dyslexic meal

      toadstools croak

      & spawn – not toads

nights are creeping in – not out

with no hokey pokey

      to shake it all about

      – only foggy ghosts

…

cryptic crossword love

~

cryptic crossword love ( evol drowssorc citpyrc )

…

oh, my osmosis
in a satellite town
– perhaps a pickled plum?

i long for the touch
of your chartered accountant
gargling milk
in a rabbit hutch

& i daydream of kissing
your sweet peruvian
bothering owls
in a haunted sauna

like an anagram
of sixteen down
without the evening gown

but fate is a gibbon
eating orange omelettes
inside a giant blue shoe

& the day’s a sailor
skipping on the pier
with a priestly earwig
– not you

…

glimpses of the future thing

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glimpses of the future thing ( gniht erutuf eht fo sespmilg )

…

five thousand pounds
per pyramid tea bag

six hundred k
for a pint of semi-skimmed

eight million dollars
for a sliced white loaf

two billion euros
for a pen & pad

tarquins super glued
to the dark side of the moon

silver spooned loons
egging on the puddings

a pigeon will shat
on your hat – next wednesday

wheelbarrows of cash
for a pack of jammy dodgers

…