Poetry

we await your form

…

stranger than strange
mister vista’s jawline
it’s hairy over there

shrouded in cloud
the chinny chin chin
of some old god

or an otherling
maybe a monster?
depends who’s singing

we await your form
stroking hmmm anew
a moon for each sun

a soon in every though
blue dawn whispering
green death gleaming

whence in why ‘n’ there
wagtails wag
a brown hare legs it

let’s head west in vests
frogmen of the east
friends of phantom fog

…

maydayish

…


morris men bailing out
      parachutes & landing on
yesteryear’s merriments
      enter the fayre
as their sunk plane explodes
      with an orange plop
into the west’s horizon
      so the foxgloves are off
let the bells knell then
      let the barely legal
maidens weave
      ribbons ’round a randy tree
let the ale keep it real
      if the piss’eads insist
albion, the coffin dodger
      is seventeen again
so this green & pheasant gland
      de vere’s sceptred isle
mister blake’s jerusalem
      is wistful like wisteria
while clematis climbs
      like the ghostly smoke from
great auntie beltane’s
      bonfire – the bardish
burks compose their verse
      on greasy white chip paper
necking lukewarm cans of
      dandelion & burdock
let anew resume
      & a cuckoo calm us all

…