…
fergus in the ferns
frolics with francesca
furtively fumbles
…
…
fergus in the ferns
frolics with francesca
furtively fumbles
…
…
as a roundhead infantryman
hamming in the ranks
of the civil war department
in the sealed knot society
– i can relate
…
…
mozart went to mow
went to mow a meadow
on the moon
…
…
as a nobel prize
winning cryogenicist
– i expected more
…
…
glue a sinking boater
with droopy dead daffodils
& tulips as well
then hyacinth too
so red, green & blue
with yellowing edges
wrapped in blooming blackthorn
a crown from those hedgerows
fit for an archetype
goosegrass from the garden
( which grows sooner each year )
a smear of rabbit shit
a spring lamb’s tail
& their afterbirth as well
a handful of raincloud
a whiff of fallow musk
a purring willow’s catkin
& a shiny splodge of frogspawn
plus a creme egg wedged
in a rubber chicken’s arse
stuck atop the lot
…
…
our great fire
who art from pudding lane
hallowed be thy flame
…
…
though the fat bastard
fasted half the hungry week
while the unsung heroine
modestly sang of her greatness
oh, yet the gobby mime artiste
never fhut the suck up
now the breeze from the south
is colder than a northerly
but the oxymoron seemed
quite bright in conversation
…
…
a letter from
the attic of
your long, lost uncle
a song about
your country cousin’s
chicken casserole
another of those
alt-accounts
( beware the many bots )
the reason why
it’s blue above
& no, not grey today
a diatribe
uncontacted
& ranting in the wilds
dear reader of
each clattering
this isn’t haiku or
an ode to
a pygmy shrew
nor a carrion crow
oh,
even though
it may seem so
sometimes the cuckoo lies
…
…
maverick limerick writer
adds an extra sixth line
penner of great epics
only wrote a paragraph
nonsense verse disperser bought
a gravy train ticket
haiku enthusiast
could explode, say experts
the clout what writes those couplets
learnt to count to three
love sonnet composer
still quilling on the loose
…
…
martian men invade earth
come the week ahead?
so tomorrow’s crumpets?
yesterday’s brown bread?
saladin & mothman
in your garden shed?
guinivere & danu
underneath my bed?
as the sun is singing
songs around the moon
bats above us gliding
of an afternoon
four & twenty mute swans
talking to the dead?
& a cat with eyebrows?
possibly, she said
…