Poem

comfortably numbnuts

…

hallowed be thy
navy t-shirt

lemon drizzle
when it’s wednesday

if the vicar’s
milking thistles

soon the curlews
pull the curtains

seven digits
in each sequence

intermittent
morris dancers

iron-plated
paper planes soar

or the doctor
never melted

singing if it’s
raining gravy

fifty thousand
clarinetists

pickled onions
in your sock drawer

– no, the florist
shop is closed now

…

buttercups

…

sun petal vessels

& the yellow of your chin

spreading on meadows

…

( author notes )

~

this poem is dedicated

to all the poor, poor victims

of the latest terrible thing

~

the man on the news

said it was absolutely terrible

& who are we to disagree?

~

social media is abuzz

with heartfelt hashtags

from kind & genuine souls

~

who can’t help but show everyone

how much they deeply care

about all those affected

~

so spare a thought & pray

for the ones that terrible, terrible thing

left in a terrible mess

…

a brief history of codswallop

…

codswallop was invented
in eighty three a.d
by an old roman fishwife
called codswallopia

codswallop’s the musings
of a confused confucius
or the simian key
in a monkey puzzle tree

possibly that saturday
in a month of mondays
big bang cultists
– the reductionist brigade ( gasp )

codswallop is banned
in belgium & azerbaijan
throughout the isle of sark
& parts of botswana

codswallop’s the reason
why i shout at clouds
hedgehogs fly with pigs
& some folk wear face-nappies

codswallop’s – a love sonnet
or a branch of d.f.s
with no sale on
because of all those mud-floods

…

where do those scarecrows go?

…

where do those scarecrows go
when the harvest-fest is over?

up to their home planet
in a magic flying combine?

maybe they’re the ghosts
of former farmer folk

& so they teleport – with thought
back to bumpkin afterlife?

possibly, these scarecrows
with straw instead of flesh

& second hand hats
with gaps on the brim

tour & see the world
– her pyramids & penguins

until spring sings
then duty calls – oh

where do scarecrows go
– alas, we’ll never know

( ? )

…

the madness of snow

…

first, the flutter of a swan

dans the druff & catches on

as the crystal fungus spores

so a tosser wanders yon

~

shudders in an ermine realm

squawks beneath the birch & elm

songing sings of winter’s wars

when a penguin’s at the helm

~

then the so’s a polar bear

breath is speckles in the air

spring, the hinge in swinging doors

grease her up & frolic there

~

mars is marches in ‘is boots

parping with the brussel’s toots

buzzing while the buzzard soars

carpeting the greening shoots

~

while the white is still allowed

from a non-“progressive” cloud

dawdle ’til the blanket thaws

magic is this – shining shroud

~

plodding beats with yeti feet

’til the sheet is pouring sleet

& a thankful river roars

then – alas – the spell’s complete 

…