it's all quintessentially picturesque & quaint warm brush strokes the lord doth paint thatched cottages for villages lush meadows all around a light breeze & birdsong are oft the only sound every reverend cycles on the green - wicket keeping cake sales & ginger ale a chocolate labrador sleeping inevitably green hills generically idyllic begging for mass murder or failing that a picnic ...
photography
a poem about river ripples
the river & its ripples its dimples its wrinkles its jiggles its wriggles mass trickles of dribble from little to middle to mighty wet riddles of slippery wiggles of rivery ripples ...
rural affairs
at first they were grazing in the greensward of the vale then further plus gradient over that dale later somehow they managed to acquire passports many sights their eyes saw on their extensive world tour then apparently they went all over the place they plodded through time they ambled through space yes throughout existence with a moo they didst roam but in last night's omen the cows came home forever ...
february’s feathery
tongues are furry waves are wavy sheep are sheepish justice scaly palms are hairy all of 'em every september's a member but february's feathery ...
night smells
something's cooking something smells good & so the tummy rumbles as i thought it would something's burning charry whiffs now alarming aromatics find the source somehow then something's leaking - d'you smell gas? it's somewhere in this darkness light a candle with a match ...
grey matters
bits of whitsuns daydreams shaving cream intermittent. lettuces madrigal clavicle crevices. code abuse stagger quagga overviews. energies lemon trees premises memories ...
rambling on
outside far & wide conscious streams daydreams. hedge rush headrows wonderings time slows. mind goes off paths ponderings lost track. fresh air everywhere modern world don't care ...
watching stars die
lobtailling, wassailing cloisters, spume, elbow grease. transpose, holy ghost, hydrogen - helium, thought, police. song, swan, wheelbarrows, buoy, ploy - hoi poloi! cosmic stuff, jigsaw, see saw blink destroyed ...
people change
I used to feel obliged to write haiku so now I don't bother for the very same reason & I used to rest my faith on the Queen as head of state yet now I dream of regicide & valid acts of treason. People change x ...
oh bother…
I've never worn clogs on a Wednesday or winked at an owl of an eve nor lobbed a potato at a bust of Plato yet many gullible people still they believe. That I often sing sea shanties whilst in Switzerland plus chuckle at their alpine mackerel skies these are a pack o' lies the usual shite - it's no surprise but whose behind these nasty vicious rumours & why? ...
resarf poetry 