…
& the lord said
let there be limeade
& yesterday died
when midnight sighed
& the traffic lights
turned sky blue
& a furrow was ploughed
on your fertile brow
& the romans scratched
their big noses
& the london eye blinked
in the wink of an i
& the morning wore
a green shellsuit
& the afternoon clashed
with its crimson skin
& the moral
is tossed in translation
& the rub
is a cat on a beanpole
& forever is
a spare pair of oxford shoes
& the internet
is not your long lost cousin
…
…
p rocatination is a timely thief
r olling stones squash hedgehogs
o ne man’s meat is another man’s carrot
v anilla is the spice of custard
e very cloud has a shit load of rain
r ules were meant to arouse civil servants
b eauty is in the hands of the bee holder
s eek & ye shall firefly
…
…
do you leave your front door open
with a breeze block – as a doorstop
open w i d e
like pacman at the dentist
( so the breeze can usher in … )
leaves & masks & plastic bags
detritus
from this system’s collapse
wanders come, the world is closer
sinking slowly, rats & goblins
piss upon your – d.f.s sofa
yoofs will nick your purple hair dye
rabid gangs
of chartered surveyors
& bards on the run – will trash your gaff
smash your mirrors
& eat your secret stash
of caramel freddos
& tunnok’s teacakes
while you’re marching
in a rainbow gimp suit
with green jackboots
begging uncle government
for open bloody borders
( ? )
…
…
twelve creme eggs
eleven hot cross buns
ten malteser bunnies
nine kinder surprises
eight packs of mini eggs
seven galaxy eggs
six toblerones
five thorton’s hampers
four chocolate gateaux
three lamb roasts
two sinnel cakes
& a fat twat on the treadmill
…
…
m ist on the hilltops
o range pith takers
n ote the post is late again
d aydreams in haystacks
a t the next junction
y awn & catch your breath
s end for reinforcements
…
…
are racket sports
really
that noisy
( ? )
…
…
hallowed be thy
navy t-shirt
lemon drizzle
when it’s wednesday
if the vicar’s
milking thistles
soon the curlews
pull the curtains
seven digits
in each sequence
intermittent
morris dancers
iron-plated
paper planes soar
or the doctor
never melted
singing if it’s
raining gravy
fifty thousand
clarinetists
pickled onions
in your sock drawer
– no, the florist
shop is closed now
…
…
sun petal vessels
& the yellow of your chin
spreading on meadows
…
( author notes )
~
this poem is dedicated
to all the poor, poor victims
of the latest terrible thing
~
the man on the news
said it was absolutely terrible
& who are we to disagree?
~
social media is abuzz
with heartfelt hashtags
from kind & genuine souls
~
who can’t help but show everyone
how much they deeply care
about all those affected
~
so spare a thought & pray
for the ones that terrible, terrible thing
left in a terrible mess
…
…
briefly i see you
monarch of the riverside
gone in a blue swish
…
…
spring’s deluge drenches
drooping daffodils dripping
pouring all morning
…
resarf poetry 