contemporary poetry

found on the 18th of march

~

found on the 18th of march ( hcram fo ht81 eht no dnuof )

…

add one beaten egg
songbirds learn their song
the same way that humans
learn how to speak

charged with murder
left in a coma
gathered in parliament square

liquid concentrated
no right turn
9000 tonnes
of discarded hardware

road ahead closed
may contain nuts
for oral administration
…

( author notes )

i didn’t write-write any of the above
just collected & rearranged

..

jog off, jogger-nought

~

jog off, jogger-nought ( thguon-reggoj ,ffo goj )

…

sing of headless chicken shits

& pigeon-livered sorts

      ploughing down pedestrians

      – those fucking jogger-noughts

thinking all must disappear

& clear a “special” path

      for the sweating lycra-legged

      & scatter like a graph

or the walking folk will fall

upon a tosser’s trot

      as the weasel pistons pump

     within the flesh of bot

see the scree of mamil men

the carnage barging through

      cripple’s clutches flying high

      a pram is halved in two

nuns beneath the pickled stink

of pissing prancing feet

      chasing karma’s twisted tail

      upon a darkened street

running into blacker blues

a gasping avenue

      feathered breath is fading fast

      & death is chasing you

…

tiny foldable ditties

~

tiny foldable ditties ( seittid elbadlof ynit )

…

sing a song of epics stunted
written by a flea with glee

spittle spurts of verses blunted
penned or pencilled spidery

scribbles tucked within a pocket
kissing keys & chiming there

rhymes inside a little locket
nestled with the pubic hair

of a lover or a stranger
or beneath a dunce’s cap

musicals on scraps of paper
crumpled odes that overlap

not a novel or a cycle
not a sonnet – spank the lord

just the custard of a trifle
– this is where the treasure’s stored
…

shat’s all folks

~

shat’s all folks ( sklof lla s’tahs )

…

sing a song of unsung

with a tungsten tongue

bee a beast of burden

’til the seed is dung

spinning in the stillness

swimming in the cack

light another candle

brighten up the black

flippin’ ‘eck – it’s morning

flying like a fly

fuckin’ ‘ell – it’s evening

time is swirling bye

let’s begin again then

chase another tale

once upon a stumble

so the glowing pale

spark another roll-up

lark a flaccid wing

whistle in the doldrums

’til the winter’s spring

as the jammy dodgers

scribble on with glee

parping in the parlour

fart-luh-laar-luh-lee

i’m up in the attic

gawping at the wall

waiting for minerva

– writing bugger all

…

census & sensibility

~

census & sensibility ( ytilibisnes & susnec )

…

is your castle a home

or is your home a castle?

were you born as broccoli?

can you spell your middle names?

when was your last dump

& did it flush in one?

do you like marmite?

what’s your spirit womble?

is a caterpillar

technically a butterfly?

?sdrawkcab daer uoy nac

do you feed the pigeons?

is your god a parsnip?

do you piss in rivers

& throw stones at clouds?

fill each box

with a tick of a cross

or a dash of a dot

or we’ll see you in court

was your job a job?

how many barn owls

live in your shed?

do you speak martian?

( best before the twenty first )

…

hill fog yourself

~

hill fog yourself ( flesruoy gof llih )

…

greetings, view-consuming gloom
blowing on your morning horn

roaming shapes of speckled wraith
whisping of a wanderlust

breathing sheets of breathless still
silent like a walking corpse

yonder is a leafless tree
or a headless horseman’s horse

wonders one & ponder on
with my tracing paper eyes

scribbles in my wonky bonce
squinting in the gasping gaps

as the smoking low cloud’s feet
plods upon the sodden ground

i’m a floating ghost in you
– eater of vistas

…

the banksy job

~

the banksy job ( boj ysknab eht )

…

masked like a gimp

with a bass-blurred voice

like the andy mcnab

of spray paint

~

bristol’s little boy

milks the sop of soy

the sum of several men

nice one, tarquins

~

rar-rar art

rinse that stencil work

pisspot psy-op

pound signs fly around

~

dollars & shekels

sherbert & shandy

in a big, fat villa

on the costa del crim

~

his brand name’s

coined by the tabloids

scamping all the normies

& oh, so woke

~

loved by the bad

feared by the good

fuck this double speak

modern robin hood

…