~

as the buzzards hum ( muh sdrazzub eht sa )

…

fog beyond the frost
floating in the frozen so
toes ‘n’ fingers crossed

spin the greening leas
uppercut ‘n’ chin the hills
with a creeping breeze

wellingtons in time
’til the moon is afternoon
with a weathered rhyme

striding like a list
feather quill a better still
sun behind the mist

ticking closer – come
rocking chair a boxing hare
as the buzzards hum

’til the teasels stir
& a springing lamb is sprang
as the catkins purr

…

~

drifting a partridge ( egdirtrap a gnitfird )

…

cousin of the quail
– the feathered sort
so not the prozzers

spouse of the grouse
catch
a weaving breeze

fields become oceans
be that
magic plank

pastures waving on
paper planes
& grass plains

floating
over clover
( further still yet further )

brother of the pheasant
go
from where the pear tree grows

…

~

mist opportunities ( seitinutroppo tsim )

…

~

water vapour wraiths

twist a greyer dragon’s tail

shifting shapes of apes

~

faces frown a smile

when ganesh is speckled breath

sit upon a stile

~

in a sodden lea

seek the greener grails of vales

watch the lottery

~

by the river’s bend

see the milkman floating so

hespero’s a friend

~

tentacles & horns

dancing as the owls retreat

then the morning dawns

~

clouds upon the ground

spinning with the river’s hymn

sing without a sound

…

~

the plan so far ( raf os nalp eht )

…

( insert plan here )

…

~

how to kill your imaginary friends ( & get away with it scot-free ) ( (eerf-tocs to htiw yawa teg & ) sdneirf yranigami ruoy llik ot woh )

…

shoot the buggers down
with a gun-shaped hand

with invisible bullets
( sound effects optional )

whack ’em with a spade
from the shed – in y’ head

or a faux-snow shovel
blow upon blow

shrink ’em to the size
of a silverfish or fly

or imaginary ant
& stamp, stamp, stamp

startle them with boos
shock ’em ’til they drop

tickle both their elbows
with an ostrich feather

break their phantom hearts
tell ’em that it’s over

you’ve new fake friends now
& some of them are poets

bury them deep
in a ten foot hole

in the hungry woods at night time
& tell not a soul

…

( author notes )

& if you have a few spare years to fill

look into the origins of scot-free

there’s quite a few different theories out there

& they’re all adamant they’re right

but until susie dent puts her foot down

no one can say for certain

…