…
~
she went on a walk
for a country mile or two
on a wet tuesday in april
~
while pigeons shat
on the mayor’s car parked
outside the town hall ( in town )
~
& laundry maids
sang old, raunchy ballads
about the price of bread – & thereabouts
~
off she upped & went
with a knapsack packed
with lucozade & tracker bars
~
most polar bears
have never seen a ghost
& not all birds can sing
~
a piece of string
is the distance of its span
– no one’s spotted her since
…
…
jailhouse frock
suspicious mints
tits now or never
( let me be your ) sweaty bear
a little less condensation
a pelican trilogy
rectum to sender
scrying in the chapel
heartbreak hovel
the chunder of you
neville in disguise
in the gateaux
…
…
august or bust
the mugwart is calling
hello from the hedgerows
the blackberries beckon
a jigsaw above us
in herringbone pieces
the stone in your trainers
is fit for a peach
the morn’ is a muddle
the even’ tiptoes
the nettles still sting though
– yes, it’s one o’ those
so august or bust
octavian’s ghost
is prodding with twigs
& canes from the bean frame
…
…
the ducks fed me
regurgitated breadcrumbs
& green duckweed
scooped with their beaks
from the bottom of the derwent
which flowed to bleaklow moor
north from the trent
as a toddler mauled a staffie
their parents used to say
it’s nurture not nature
in the park again
yet change rearranged
so old biddies gathered
high on aspartame
vaping & littering
if their grandkids found out
they’d no doubt – be ashamed
& blame the internet
leaves fell upwards
from the ground to the trees
not one cottager
stuffed inside the cubicles
of the gents bog
which flushed like a dream
cyclists remembered
what their bells were for
the ice cream van
sold hot mister whippies
the moon shined bright – come noon
& all the tossers jogging
watched where they were going
& never hogged the path
…
…
garden guests sweat
stroking the archbishop’s toes
a scotch egg sandwich
…
…
b isto gravy granules, bat boxes, busybodies
r ed brick polytechnics, riddles, roast parsnips
i roning boards, ivy, iron age hill forts
t owpaths, toad-in-the-hole, trainspotters in anoraks
a nother lute solo, am-dram, apple pips
n ightmarish hellhounds, n.h.s death cults
n ob’eads, nettles, numpties – nonces on t.v
i tching powder tricksters, idiots in parliament
a valon, a bus fare home, a twat on the throne
…
…
hummingbirds glide by
with not a hum between ’em
butterflies becoming
their moth-like alter egos
green goes blacker
on this gland of hope & glory
fields fade a shade
of bugger off to bedfordshire
normies snore
like a corpse in a deep freeze
busybodies stop
waving their latest flag – or banner
even poets pause
& scratch their hairy bollocks
shepherds were delighted
at the redness in the heavens
…
( author notes )
& apparently – catalytic converter theft
is on the rise again
due to the lure
of their so-called – precious metals
i’ve not got ’round
to writing a poem about it yet
but stay vigilant everyone
– together we can beat this
…
…
snippets in between
england’s rolling green
strolling like the skies
spreading butterflies
buttercups & buts
squirrels scratching nuts
tangles up ahead
brambles scratch the stead
why the where in whats
dash before the dots
splashing on the brain
static crackle rain
firmaments confirm
what we’ll never learn
floating like a ghost
letters in the post
pillared be the bark
of thy woodland – hark
owlets howl away
night becoming day
jam upon your lips
sticky fingertips
snippets in between
england’s rolling green
…
…
hawks are on the rise
since hawks were reclassified
as any creature
with feathers & a beak
rising from the ashes
like a hawk from the flames
as all the hawks quack
by the blanks of the river
yet one hawk
does not a summer make
& we can’t resist the smell
of tandoori hawk masala
since the twitchers turned
those ornithologists
shunned taxonomy
& got rid of the goalposts
– look, there goes a hawk
black & squawking so
up above the hedgerow
formerly a crow
but no, another hawk
r.s.p.b that ( y’ twat )
& a hawk sang
in that there berekely square
…
…
a pheasant cock struts
on the wet railway sleepers
in between steam trains
…
resarf poetry 