Poems

in search of that time honoured nature po-et-ry

i left by the back door

at around 9.03

in search of that time honoured

nature po-et-ry.





the meh pedestrian usual shite

i'm sure you've read 'n' heard

that no one nowadays really writes

just jiggles the words.





but by by 9.07 (ish)

the weather had turned shit

the animals they scattered fast

the nymphs they were amiss.





so amidst this bastard shat

i decided to head back

then went home & penned the usual gubbins

in hindsight

- thank fuck for that

 x

...

consciously vague

it trickles

in drips

of drops

of dribble

whilst always

just missing

the tip of the tongue.





it speaks

with no language

blank pages

when written

where once

there was music

old songs are unsung.





but sometimes

in places

in daylight

awakened

yes briefly

a twinkle

a glimmer of inkle.





yet never

specifics

lest

what it all means

i'm trying

to remember

last night's dream

...