Poetry

( random author notes )

…

penned upon a wednesday
in your milkman’s mausoleum

written with squiddy ink
but no roadkill blood

possibly alt-clerihue
or confused haiku

garbled like a rewilded
gardener’s tongue

padded in places
mainly a-4 lined

nothing of note, nope
only notation

just the shapes of apes
yet may may contain

nuts & yet september
is the best month for it

before the hedgerows do
one like this poem

…

feeding the redux

…

back before your ghost is born
bleating like a pygmy goat

breathe another biscuit tin
kiss a swan – & dawdle on

bite another bulletin
let the morning coffee sneeze

bring a pen of burning gold
older than the bastard hills

blear another clearing here
sliding like a trombone nose

billow, if the pillow speaks
cast a net of castanets

unarrange the normalcy
every daze – the beans & we

bless id us & sun above
when forever’s floating forth

…

troofer online

…

troofer online
preaching in full caps

THE EARTH IS A PANCAKE
INSIDE A GIANT PAN

have a word with woodland
but instead you type

EVERY WEATHER GIRL
IS A MAY SONIC SHILL

are you joking when
you write with aplomb?

TARTARIA
WAS MILTON KEYNES
BEFORE THE MUD FLOODS

HAVING A DUMP
IS A SAY TANNIC RITUAL

BELGIAN SPACE LASERS
SCULPTED THE SPHINX
IN NINETEEN NINETY SEVEN

( ? )

…

front to backwards

…

stranger than before
strontium & cobwebs

begin without a further
ado or agadoo

unstraighten your sigh
anorak – not jacket

sitting room only
the oddballs will keep rolling

i hope you’re waterproof
& brought more silver bullets

cloudy lemonade
the egg whisk of destiny

& seven pounds in change
as infrequent frequencies

these freak occurrences
will become a thingy

sing, if it helps
scatter cushions fell then

weirder than the ears
of the balladeer’s missus

mistily, her hips
her luminescent lips

tomorrow never nosedive
swans kick it off

…

rearrange strange

…

tin whistle then
the ghostly folk men
in bright white coats

scrawl this morrow
blue is the new black
unslept in sigh

why is beyond
once upon mute swans
middle eight ten

cold winter day
grey like lady jane
old shuck’s breakfast

beans in a can
the turin shroud wink?
clouds below groan

dick turpin’s neck
turns like warwick’s earl
facing the gaze

rearrange strange
faith in her water
warmer than flames

…