~
i don’t suppose you seen my nose? ( re the picture – spot the lambs )
…
i don't suppose
you've seen my nose?
i took it off
so i could doze
then dreamt awhile
when i arose
shit-fiddlesticks
where are you nose
( ? )
i really need
to sniff a rose
plus sweetly now
the breeze does blow
'can't smell it though
so fields i roam
with sniffer dogs
where are you nose
( ? )
...
~
ring them bells ( a tale )
…
the ones that almost got away
the ones that ran
then changed their names
the ones that lived behind spun yarns
slept in ditches
in camouflage
& hid in barns with bushy beards
until they thought
they's disappeared
well now they're back so ring them bells
those ones were us
we know
ourselves
( ? )
...
~
gale – the hat thief ( story true ( a ) )
…
yes there blows gale - the hat thief trying to steal our hats plus bits of trees wallets & keys & unspecified tat i stuck my favourite hat on as there upon my head one splodged a tube of supered glue ( she stole my mind instead ) ...
~
grandfather was a clock ( a true tale )
…
grandfather was a clock born of time keeping stock he died when i was five ( sigh ) we kept his hands & cogs ( plus ) some of his d.n.a stays with me to this day come midnight then i chime thrice each noon i do the same ...
~
the sun is my witness ( some crocus-pocus )
…
the sun saw it all as the sun is my witness no nosy sorts gawped then oft justice is witless but above me truth shines as wigged types are thinking my eyes look to wise skies first squinting, then blinking ...
~
shrouded in miscellany ( all these poems should called this really, sorry … )
…
there speaks the voice of raisin but not the voice of reason those novelists have lost the plot as woods scheme acts of treason your face is in the basin some stephens are uneven yon martians in the garden & in the attic - a demon yes brass bands they are brazen as spring's a bouncy season king arthur sleeps neath avalon & mum has gone to sweden trust not ravens or masons some fiery pyres are beacons fog's often fog yet dogs are dogs your fruit is bruised not beaten ...
~
the spoon years ( nostalgia & out the other one )
…
i grew up with no mirrors so i used to use a spoon to comb my hair, straighten school ties sometimes i'd pause & swoon i thought i looked quite unique with my special mis-shaped face part boiled egg & part baboon yet of the human race ( ? ) ...
~
my other poem ( may contain traces of bolts, screws & of course, nails )
…
my other poem is a bumper sticker there stuck to the back of well - my other car but my other car it is a tea clipper capable of space flight sailing star to star ...
~
in other news ( some other news in that there of a verse )
…
in other news the cat is fine the dog is dog i drank the wine with my hands bare i caught a fly whilst blindfolded the cellar's dry the t.v's died the dog is well not trapped down one there is no hell a hole was dug one sought the dead shambhala was down there instead please send more wine the pantry's full over my eyes i pull the wool that's yes better my ears have grown the birds are here their nest has flown the jumble's back fine is the cat last candlemas cat caught a rat that looked a lot a lot like you please come back soon in other news ...
