photography

re last thursday afternoon

…

why did the traffic jam

      like pitted damsons

air-con off

      so we felt swindled

how come the sun

      never flared up?

good walk though

      over the big hill

toasted tea cakes

      mustn’t effing grumble

a ten pound note

      against the gushing rain

the matron’s face

      these things still linger

like a headless horseman’s

      horse’s hoof prints

on fresh snow

      where earlobes tingle

once we stood

     at a temporary bus stop

a flask of turnip soup

      left at the traffic lights

three brown hares

      always a pleasure

the troubadour in town

     fined without a license

home & up the tree house

      later in the coal shed

drawing games of scrabble

     a pan fried rainbow trout

why did a meteor

      not wipe us all out?

…

poetess ess

…

speak to me in purple
prosaic prozac
of the twinkled kisses
from the sun – no less

all the lovely flowers
cotton something clouds
settle meadow bedlam
such a fluttered mess

butterflies & sweeties
nice shite – et cetera
godesses but no gods
unless they wear a dress

come vomit rainbows
paint another blandscape
in between hot flushes
poetess ess

…

then in ten whens

…

the whether turns again
upon a silver sixpence

the late bus is early
like a worm catching birds

the early bus is late
like a dead dead fellow

the trains run like honey
sticky but sweet

a pigeon never shats
on your lucky hat

a crackpot maverick
reinvents the shell suit

two fat ladies
blow it all on bingo

the moon is on mute
so we read the subtitles

the sun shines my shoes
in between sleeps

& writes you a poem
on a postage stamp’s back

…

o c t o b e r i s h

…

o h, this ghoul spool
once upon the turning
c obweb sandwiches
constipated poets
t oadstool legs
toffee apple tosspots
o peratic winds wail
open-source sorcery
b at soup cans
baked bean gasses
e very badger’s rabid
elfin woodland beckons
r oses wither so
re this eventide
i t’s fast falling
in between summers
s ing like a nightingale
sip stormy tea
h ope is a swan
hocus-pocus on

…

shout out to the deaf

…

hashtag stags
& haberdasheries

big up the microbes
that grow up your nose

desmond in a tutu
from swan lake university

ray d. ographer
the pygmy shrew massive

nice one the moon
& mister kipling’s tart

@ the heart of england
looking for a beach

shout out to the deaf
they might just hear you whisper

the tartan paint is peeling
on your chocolate teapot

…

atilla the honey monster

…

atilla, atilla

the dreaded honey monster

with his honey monster hordes

swept through these lands

from sweet wheaten steppes

in the distant east

bringing e-numbers & death

& hyperactive yoofs

so old king quaker fled

& took his oats with him

in the age of sugar puffs

until the forces of

the rice krispies triumvirate

of snap, crackle & pop

of the kellogs dynasty

fed in from the west

so on this very spot

a bloody great battle

was fought with spoons – not swords

in this very bowl

until the cow mooed

then the milkman drowned them all

back in breakfast times

…

enter the readers

…

enter the readers

eating pickled eggs

in cheap tweed

or turquoise shell suits

glue sniffing them

probably all cousins

maybe half a dozen

on a good day’s stretch

they of cheddar breath

& barrow boy barnets

keen taxidermists

& amateur phrenologists

joy rides in milk floats

bicycle spokes

worn like badges

on the fronts of their berets

…

( author notes )

i’ve been away for a few weeks
in the south of england
& the west country too

& it’s all kicked off in the meantime
you must know what i mean
the age old conflict

has reared its ugly head again
& people have been losing their ess
online & at the many protests

throughout the world
as the media insists we may be
on the brink of world war 3

– you know what i’m talking about
but whose side am i on?
everyone has to pick a team

so what is it to be?
heinz tomato ketchup
or h.p brown sauce?

& the answer is both
plus own-brand brown sauces
& daddies ketchup

plus salad cream
mustard, mayonnaise
gravy, chutney & jam

the more condiments – the better
i refuse
to lose my mind over this

so i ignore this divisive pantomime
& carry on
writing bollocks

( amen )

…