the casting list for the film of your life story

…

mum – dame helen mirren
dad – chevy chase
you as a boy – flat eric
your best friend then – pingu
the vicar – shane richie
your old lolliop lady – scary spice
your old school bully – a scarecrow nicked from the fields
uncle graham – jackie chan
auntie edith – eddie izzard
your old woodwork teacher – sting ( singer or wrestler )
your driving instructor – kermit the frog
your second-cousin’s neighbour – mister t
the ombudsman’s secretary – nigella lawson
the king of ruritania – ainsley harriot
the duchess of xanadu – kylie minogue
your frisbee-golf coach – the honey monster
your arch-nemesis – adam woodyatt
the archbishop of canterbury – lulu
doctor harold shipman – twat hancock
your electroshock therapist – ozzy osbourne
alan titchmarsh – brief cameo ( in a dream sequence )
your beautiful wife – a blow-up crash-test dummy
the voice of your hamster, clarence – ian mcshane
you grown up – the ghost of roger moore

…

also’s uncle

…

seventeen lapwings

candlemas cake tins

eighteen greylags

mister kipling’s caves

inside spongy earth

spongiform tuesday

telepathic pangolin

mung bean in between

bleak cheese chatterings

shotgun michaelmas

colonel mustard’s gas

measles, myself &

madrigal matchsticks

frisbees in breezes

lemon thyme travel

herbal garden imp

ninety nine kings

forty four cormorants

seventeen lapwings

…

the old & the new

…

hot is the new cold

quiet is the new loud

gay is the new straight

sweet is the new sour

blokes are the new birds

low is the new high

far is the new near

here is the new there

apple is the new pear

where is the new when

what is the new how

war is the new peace

died suddenly

is the new expected

dark is the new light

lark is the new owl

science is the new god

normalzzz is the new odd

fingers are the new toes

toads are the new frogs

cats are the new dogs

fat is the new thin

king is the new queen

float is the new flight

old is the new new

open is the new shut

gnu is the new impala

poets are the new cool

shite is the new good

but m.a.ps are still nonces

…

an open letter to a martian penfriend

…

dear green keith

the mayor of mid-cydonia

where the air is ares

on the ruddy red planet

i hope you fixed that leak

in your pyramid loft

& christmas went okay

( it’s just as shit on earth )

the weather here is wet

which suits the duck in me

– is it sunny there

in your neck of the solar-wood?

how’s your ten-headed

foxhound called portia?

do you still garden?

are you on social media?

or should we dredge the canals?

have you moved to the moon?

it’s been six million years

so please reply quite soon

…

n-word haiku

.,.

nora’s naughty nap

nestor’s nincompoop nephew

nigel’s nylon nob

…

the long & winding rhododendron

…

still skylarking

as the cat is barking

squirms in y’ journals

mustard cress & colonels

guess the fuckin’ rest then

shaving in the dark

swimming in the depths with

a kraken & a shark

crocus pocus

focus in the locus

spring is on a mattress

with a famous actress

talking to a bishop

wish upon a well

annals, ants ‘n’ flannels

as the badgers yell

sweet pea shooting

as y’ nan is looting

morrisons & budgens

that’ll make the cudgeons

put y’ fuckin’ boot down

cloud a summer day

walk with thee beside me

& squawk beneath the grey

…

prime twats strike again

…

riots when they form

them of masks & clot-shot jabs

those that hoarded bog roll

like a frightened squirrel

them that soiled their pants

& never saw their nan

fighting over cans

of fizzy snake oil

see the pillocks pile on

humping yet clothed

like a bored bullock

on a muggy august morn’

lost of all purpose

like a beached porpoise

kicking off in aldi

whislt i hum vivaldi

look at those battle-bot

normalzzz go

it’s the freakiest

show ( oh-oh )

& cumming fucking soon

to your local shop

what a load of bollocks – it’s

– twats & rip-off pop

…

( author notes )

my poetry prediction for 2023

is that simon armitage

will become alan titchmarsh

& alan titchmarsh will become

simon armitage

–

those two have been merging for years

ever since simon got the laureate gig

but they will become one

& the same

by this time next year

…

( stop making up your own jokes )

…

mike hunt is hairy

( back, arse & palms )

mike hunt is fishy

( fly & sometimes magnet )

mike hunt is tight

( there’s cobwebs in his wallet )

mike hunt is massive

( he’s seven foot two )

mike hunt is tiny

( compared to a blue whale )

mike hunt is yeasty

( he’s a baker by trade )

mike hunt is smelly

( normally lynx africa )

mike hunt is shaven

( but only on his face )

mike hunt is weepy

( but still dices onions )

mike hunt is wet

( from walking in the rain )

mike hunt is lovely

( he’s never seen on a tuesday )

mike hunt prefers

to be known as a michael

…

testing times

ten past quizzical

interrogation a.m

dunce hat day

yawning all morning

fight all fortnight

the disappearing years

head scratch afternoon

quarter to mercurial

bugger me p.m

tumbleweed fifteen

humpty dumpty evenings

doldrum & bass

tongue tied thirty

cul-de-sac month

a calendar of colanders

whirlpool fest

what the fuck o’ clock

…

( author notes )

i wrote this the other day
after a giant scotch egg on legs
( appearance & sentience )
tried to run me over
in his battered golf

the cunt had pulled in
to the junction i was crossing
& if i hadn’t had stepped back
– i’d be in hospital or dead

& what was its excuse?
… ” but i only live ’round the corner “
… well there we go then …

stay safe from zombies behind the wheel

thoughts on the unnamed narrator

who is the unnamed narrator

of nearly all stories & tales

that ever have been told

– they must be very old

or live outside of time

in some pocket universe

in a terraced house

with three cats & a goldfish

maybe their name is constantine

mike perhaps or julie

they probably smoke a pipe

& wash behind both ears

i bet they drive an audi

& dabble in taxidermy

they may well play the bagpipes

& grow their own begonias

there’s no way that they’re ginger

for fuck’s sake – that’s impossible

or keep their eggs in the fridge

next to their cucumbers

i do hear they bake flapjack

& skim stones on a sunday

upon the lakes & ponds

around the back of everywhere

( ? )

…

resarf poetry

( ? )

photography