photography

sweet foxtrot alpha

…

since the clear vision year
sweet foxtrot alpha

has bean the samian
wearing odd socks

once faith foghorned
before the nappy faces

from my apple pips
to my fellow mango

but then saucer
with my plasma eyes

that moist folk
were frightened androids

shooting up ghosts
sputum software

& the twaddle is a twat
in a fucking wanker hat

…

technically speaking

…

it’s a sort of story

but it’s not a story

– it’s a poem

it’s a branch of song

but it’s not a song

– it’s a poem

it’s a type of list

but it’s not a list

– it’s a poem

it’s a class of diary

but it’s not a diary

– it’s a poem

it’s a kinda magic ( magic, magic )

but it’s not magic

– it’s a poem ( soz freddie )

it’s a form of poem

but it’s not a poem

– it’s a poem

( goddit… ? )

…

( my true love is a munter )

…

the furrows that you plough
above the frowning sight
of your siamese eyebrow

singular it sits
above your eyepatch
& your left red stare

a snorting snout
& a marmite brown mouth
– actual cauliflowers

as your ears
so hope disappears
yet the rest endears

a crotch so fishy
that even andrew windsor
would sweat

the traces of soup
upon the handlebars
of your lady moustache

& a bosom so south
that penguins nest
on your nipples

the hair on your palms
– on your lovely lady arms
& arse

– phwoar

…

whatever happened to the monkeypox apocalypse?

…

i thought we’d all be dead
but bugger all instead

i’ve checked under the bed
& rummaged in the attic

you’re not on t.v’s snooze
your old house is deserted

your flowerbed is thistles
the lawn is only earth

i’m on the cocoa pops
my third bowl in a row now

& yet my skin is smooth
like an eel on groovin’ bass

i’ve plunged the kitchen sink
& wondered were you real

or never really there
like the missing link?

perhaps a plot hole
or a cheeky cul-de-sac?

my favourite baddy
from season two-m twenty two?

better than the flu
& better lines too

you were the one
but the pantomime plays on

…

seven thanks

…

thanks for the poem
– i only read the first line
& then fell asleep

thanks for the photo
of your left elbow
smothered in marmite

thanks for bathing with me
in a tub of tinned spaghetti
for fun – not charity

thanks for the salad
september’s semaphore
cheesecake commissar

thanks for the arsenic
i whoopsy daisy spilled
instead of drank

thanks for the scotch egg
– i should see soon
what’s hatching out

thanks for the magic beans
within seven days
they’ll no doubt – sprout

…

my lucky penny

…

oh, my lucky penny

was found on a dung heap

as lightning struck

up the hairy anus cheeks

of brown fingered me

on the cusp of world war three

or so the papers claim

as the mad wind howled

& a big branch fell

from a silver birch tree

& snared us like a hare

with concussion for good measure

so it rained dead crows

& the new moon laughed

at my lucky penny

& lucky old me

…