…
heads or tails – then see
what us wankers eat for tea
– salad or pancakes… ?
…
photography
( a brief filler )
…
this poem is only
quick set cement
mixed just for you
& poured in your boots
…
that’s all for how now
…
yesterdays poem was
a brown cow on the brow
of a windswept hillock
& a pocketful of hay
…
spring checklist
…
crocus croaking in the dawn
rebbit as the rabbits spawn
choral mornings stirring bees
blossom on the yawning trees
petals on a greening gust
snowing so the feathers dust
shelves & delves in lofts above
turpentine, a turtle dove
missing marbles in the head
pan is in the garden shed
lions roaring like a lamb
venus from a giant clam
circles from the second sun
crosses on a y’ easter bun
mars is marching on again
dancing apes in april rain
ribbons swishing round a pole
yonder is a prancing foal
tumbleweed & clarinets
daffodils – the rest forgets
down amongst the dingle’s ring
when the stinging nettles sing
as a badger shags a fox
tick another fucking box
…
today’s spoilers
…
( author notes )
dear reader, the following bollocks contains spoiler alerts
from the next exiting episode of your life
so if you don’t want to know what happens next
then don’t read on
( final warning & on we go )
…
it all begins with birdsong
it won’t rain ’til teatime
you won’t spot an otter
or a headless horseman
or dance the macarena
with a member of the clergy
the morning toast will burn again
you’ll hear a milkman whistle
a t.v theme from yesteryear
& see a grey squirrel
chase a black cat
then smell a stagnant pond
you’ll drink a cappuccino
with extra chocolate sprinkles
you’ll catch the wrong bus
the sun’s is still a hot cross bun
the moon is still its lunacy
that rash disappears
you’ll sneeze three times
plus the poetry flows
so your constipation clears
( with aplomb )
…
something of the other
…
a bit bitten off by
false hen’s teeth
the slightest little slither
of a snake-shaped cake
traces of faces
in yawning morning fog
a shred of marmalade
a scrap of a yard
a smidgeon of a pigeon
in among the cats
one or two tulips
thirty three fir trees
a few more footsteps
in a country mile
something of the other
& the inkling of a smile
…
loophole haiku
…
saved by the laces
on your jammy, new blue shoes
weaved between eyelets
…
( author notes )
pssst –
this here loophole haiku
was originally written under the alias
” lou pole “
…
february salad
…
hi-vis valentine
v-sign language
seven redshanks
& a tin of salmon chunks
nunchuck nuts
dusters, ducks ‘n’ dusk
jack horner’s tusks
candlemas formation
psychosis sausages
face nappy changelings
four blue tits
tulip glossary
calling avocado
catkin erato
mizzle missus worthington
hairy pussy willow
…
f r a g m e n t
…
f uck the tumble dryer
r eservations only – so
a ntlers on a postcard
g row your own turnips
m ark as unread
e aster is a beacon
n o, i’m not a troll
t ake the long road home
…
( not wolves this time )
…
poetry came
& shat on the mattress
spat on my cacti
& fused my toaster
poetry came
& smoked all my tea bags
sucked my dictionary
& drank my inkwell
poetry came
so all my friends vanished
even the real ones
– i never made from plasticine
poetry came
through an open casement window
from the direction
of the local sewage works
poetry came
on a grey bank holiday
& nicked all my cravats
– the cheeky, thieving twat
poetry came
& danced on my desk
pissed in my kettle
& left me with this mess
…
resarf poetry 