on a clear day i can see cheeky faceless he beyond the horizon but never the front instead as from the tips of hilltops yes frequently i will spot conditions permitting it's the back of my head ...
Poems
i love you saint swithun
i love you saint swithun you're nothing like the other saints i love you saint swithun it's different this time i love you saint swithun it's not gay 'cause you've been canonized i love you saint swithun & i'm glad that you're mine x ...
yadnus retsae
easter sunday is here no tinsle snow or mistletoe but sometimes these things get up-muddled then fuddled easter sunday is here it's the aftermath of christ's prank the annual crucified scamp with an empty tomb for all there to see & a chocolate partridge in a pear tree ...
the truth is stranger
yes the truth is stranger than fiction as in real-life black beauty was a kraken who terrorised the 7 seas with tentacles for centuries anna sewell's an equine wind-up merchant - that's what actually happened ...
everyday’s only a blank page if you dismiss the invisible ink
everyday's only a blank page if you dismiss the invisible ink the scribblings of yesterdays disguised quite indistinct the meanderings of previously the potterings of yore yes everyday's only a blank page if you manage to ignore what's been written before ...
bouquet
this poem smells of the delian league a week last-sunday & cauliflower cheese this poem smells of neptune's moons all 14 of the beggars & confused afternoons this poem smells of your uncle's first car the shipping forecast a candle maker's memoir plus this poem smells of the kitchen sink so when every scent has blended - THIS POEM STINKS ...
a world within an onion & a place within a potato
a world within an onion but this this world is your onion yet man alive like this leek yeah fuckin' 'ell - it's unique it's a magical paddle if stuck up any shit creek. & a place within a potato this potato tastes of play dough plus the turin shroud's scrotum the arch deacon's arse crack & then i the young barn-hand-lad that takes us back x ...
old note woman
dear mardy old great grandmother on the back of my £5 note no one is born superior your family are a joke you're fuck-all ceremoniously you've never been my queen a dinosaur - yes nothing less unable to smile from centuries of incest x ...
10.23
the novelty clock is adamant now that it's 10.23 & who are we to argue ? yes who are we to disagree ? as time & existence are mysteries beyond mere monday's wits & powers so nice 1 - it's 10.23 for 60 seconds then again erm in roughly 12 hours ... (author nodes ... written this gninrom)
beyond jam
a weary jam maker lay nackered in bed & thought of all the jam that day they'd made then they thought of all the jam they hoped to make in the future closed their eyes & dreamed of lemon curd red currant jelly - MARMALADE ...
resarf poetry 