the bunting is munting

~

the bunting is munting ( gnitnum si gnitnub eht )

the silence was golden
a clamour is made
beholding the lost of
the wanker parade

a thunder of fuckers
a bitch of a groan
arranged by the folk who
won’t leave us alone

a floating of gloating
a schism of narc
the crows above circle
but never a lark

the sun is avoiding
the soiling of day
as mister punch swazzles
magonia’s grey

a tentful of tossers
& crap cover bands
the glasses are plastic
& warm in your hands

the lager is fizzless
an apt metaphor
so please putin save us
with nuclear war

a castle of bounces
the drowning ‘n’ bruised
the emptier vessels
are easily amused

the darkness in normalzzz
a forceful delight
the bunting is munting
the carnival’s shite

seen be to yet

~

seen be to yet ( tey ot eb nees )

when chelsea tractors plough
the muddy fields beyond

& hug-a-mugger chuggers
run away

when all the rich philanthropists
leave us alone

& those effing jesuits
mind their own beeswax

as elton john’s wig
grows an inch – overnight

an alien emerges
out of simon parkes’s arse

climate change melts
the snow in all the snow domes

andrew windsor vindaloos
sweating not a drop

when poltergeists pose
on the cover of vogue

i’ll eat my own toe jam
on hot buttered teacakes

& play leapfrog
with wild boar or rhinos

as you’re crowned the new queen
of sheba – or whiskas

goes saying the as

~

goes saying the as ( sa eht gniyas seog )

time to feed the unicorns
& face the candle’s bright

morris dance on mercury
& see the carrot knight

fight the cabbage dragon or
paint the piper’s door

kiss the vicar’s knicker drawer
& bid you all goodnight

a bits of a poemz

~

a bits of a poemz ( zmeop a fo stib a )

the bus was late

like henry the eighth

      ( who died

        in fifteen forty seven )

ten passed two

& eleven went twelve

      ( washing machines

        live longer with calgon )

vans car by

but cars van faster

      ( they should have seen it coming

        – the tay bridge disaster )

phil collin’s middle names

are david & charles

      ( there goes godot

        in his souped-up milk float )

sixteen down

in the cryptid crossword

     ( a badger & an otter

       crossed with an owl )

according to guiness

the oldest known woodlouse

      ( was aged eighty seven

        & two months – in dog years )

cats can’t dance

the macarena backwards

      ( & the blackpool tower

        is taller than saint paul’s )

why this trivia?

yonder is a songbird

      ( shitting on the vicar’s

        peter storm cagoule )

i buy my pegs from the gypsies

~

i buy my pegs from the gypsies ( seispyg eht morf sgep ym yub i )

the sailor went to the tailors
for his tights & an evening gown
the sailor went to the tailors
he paid five shillings & a crown

i buy my pegs from the gypsies
i buy my heather from them too
i buy my pegs from the gypsies
but i wrote this poem for you

the doctor rode on a donkey
the spinster span a life of grey
the doctor rode on a donkey
& sang this song upon his way

i buy my pegs from the gypsies
i buy my heather from them too
i buy my pegs from the gypsies
but i wrote this poem for you

the maidens milked of a morning
the dawning thought she had a choice
the maidens milked of a morning
& the town crier lost his voice

i buy my pegs from the gypsies
i buy my heather from them too
i buy my pegs from the gypsies
but i wrote this poem for you

the bishop bashed – with a hammer
a rusted nail upon a post
the bishop bashed – with a hammer
& swore he saw the holy ghost

i buy my pegs from the gypsies
i buy my heather from them too
i buy my pegs from the gypsies
but i wrote this poem for you

the miller wept in a windmill
the farmer slept in a barn
the miller wept in a windmill
so a minstrel minced a folk yarn

i buy my pegs from the gypsies
i buy my heather from them too
i buy my pegs from the gypsies
but i wrote this poem for you

the baron danced with a badger
the soldier fell into a well
the baron danced with a badger
as the clocksmith polished his bell

i buy my pegs from the gypsies
i buy my heather from them too
i buy my pegs from the gypsies
but i wrote this poem for you – for you
oh, i wrote this poem for you