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the real archbishop of canterbury ( a true tail not tale )
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i am the real archbishop of canterbury ignore those imposters you see on t.v the robert runcies & the justin welbys they're scheming you senseless conniving they be i've never been to canterbury actually my clothes are no robes - black tee shirts, tracky beez i'm unsure on god but i know she's a she ( yet ) i am the real one - come flock follow me ...
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a solo effort ( some verse of )
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yet when the moon doesn't help
& them chuckles hide in puddles
as it's too puzzled by itself
when them words are all befuddled
as the day's gravel 'n' gravy
hence then the birdsong's gone confused
& so grey's the may in maybe
pray tell us
what then do we do
( ? )
...
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the return of spring-heeled jack ( a true tale in a poemz-formz of )
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i saw him leap from roof to roof he does exist - there goes the proof that wicked cloak & bouncy boots it must be he - who can refute? gravity's strong but he prevails still nimble now & no less frail gasps of wonder lie in his trail & frightened types like lucy scales sightings have re-spread - towns, cities keep them eyes peeled - it might be he a true folk legend there to see in the twenty first century remain cautious - he might attack perhaps he slept? let's stick to facts it's been a while but yes he's back it's the return of spring-heeled jack ...
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poetry spiked my tea ( a true tale of woe-be-me )
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poetry spiked my tea so i'm flightier than thee aye & now i can see our world quite differently what once was seen as bland it is now somehow quite grand with my quilled pen in hand my friends don't understand they assume i'm a loon a twat bored-mad by the moon poetry spiked my tea ( i hope it wears-off soon ) ...
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stat-shat ( some a poetry of )
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yes statistically speaking
we're all more likely to die
from strikes of lightning
from the static-charged sky
if we're already choking
on a bay leaf - yeah - or five
plus have athlete's foot
& yet no one knows why
( ? )
...
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stretchy bastards ( some o’ that-this )
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yes anything is possible so tell your auntie steve & cousin catnip-thursday-things we just have to believe as it's mind over matter all ( including uncle eve ) right now i'm feeling sleeveless - yeah wearing a shirt with sleeves ...
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as the crowbar flies ( if in doubt – bother a cousin )
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there is movement in the city through its streets, pavements & jitties there are staggers in the valley where them dawdlers dilly dally in the town criers are shouting certain thomas's are doubting in the woods squirrels are waltzing as pole vaulters are revolting there are echos trapped down old wells as the purists practice old spells as the tortoises are rushing & burst sewage pipes are gushing & then there's a pond on fire the bogged down stuck in the mire plus all those missing bits to find as the crowbar flies in my mind ...
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thoughts on lamps ( a surfeit of lamp shades )
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lamp lights lights blare nightingales florence fayre lampshades bright shades up-muddled ley line leys bad bits magnets bedtime reads evil shit helpful kind folk glows of hope lovely ghosts ...
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a velcro poemz ( some fuckin’ poetrys or others )
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so come to me like velcro roughly mid-arms elbows bring me pollen data i'll detach it later with fuzzy felts & old hips post it notes that won't stick missing pets & cold sores holy grails & coleslaw the complete works of dick'ead the lost gnomes of lost sheds pantomime horse bridles magnetic spin cycles strange birthday cards from strangers antichrists in mangers come to me like velcro roughly mid-arms elbows ...
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on a candlemas morn
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i saw the first snowdrops on a candlemas morn beside a hedge of hardy hawthorn the first of the season so a nymph blows a horn inside my head on a candlemas morn the flowers not sky flakes spring teeters - things reborn sticking out there like a unicorn winter still holds the reins be aware - you've been warned but snowdrops now on a candlemas morn ...
resarf poetry 