…
dancing quiche
thank you for the muesli
super storm trouper
jimmy, jimmy, jimmy
take a chance on measles
mamma meerkat
voulez-voodoo
s.o.s hole
portaloo
…
…
dancing quiche
thank you for the muesli
super storm trouper
jimmy, jimmy, jimmy
take a chance on measles
mamma meerkat
voulez-voodoo
s.o.s hole
portaloo
…
…
caught the morning sunshine
hide behind a duvet
wore a pair of rudolph socks
sought the grail again
heard a jackdaw overhead
cackle like sid james
plodding on the heathland
as the gorses glowed
golden like a ratio
like a sandwich filling
stilton & cold stuffing
with a thud of english mustard
defended rorke’s drift
then thwarted ming the merciless
drank flat lemonade
slept on the sofa bed
…
…
upon this avalon
the winsome hinges squeak
the tide is in between
the novels plot is penned
the green is parakeet
a village in a town
if music is the glue
a dipstick dividend
a penguin for your thoughts
a scatter cushion breeze
the whispering is loud
& sounding ’round the bend
a turnip for the books
the prickles on each pear
a crumbled apple pi
a typo on the mendd
a poem in the mud
a fork for all the spoons
the road’s an open page
the moon’s a blooming blend
the nosedive in your eyes
a door before each day
the eastern sun’s a nun
the western wind’s a friend
the greyness in the gold
the chirrup syrups so
a chattering of ink
beginning when things end
…
…
– poet on the loose –
they must have picked the lock
on their guilded cage
with a feathered quill
or a plastic pen
– poet on the loose –
rhyming like the sliming
of a garden slug
brown tweed jacket
blue shell suit trousers
– poet on the loose –
rabid like a thirsty bat
as they bard their this & that
rambling their verses
to all within earshot
– poet on the loose –
aged nine to ninety nine
in poet years
scarecrow haircut
eyebrows quite loud
– poet on the loose –
like a miasmic breeze
prosing up the pavements
& so the sirens blare
red alert is here
– poet on the loose –
this is not a drill
a hammer or a spanner
so run indoors & bolt
the backs & the fronts
– poet on the loose –
stay inside until
expert marksmen
have fired their tranquilliser darts
& landed on their arse
…
…
twelve tarquins skiing
eleven mute swans singing
ten kettles steaming
nine spinsters shiver
eight maidens knitting
seven farmers gritting
six builders bricking
five cold rings
four snoring dormice
three yellow snow cones
two lost cuckoos
& a parsnip stuck up my arse
…
…
s odden ground sounds
q uenched earth belching
u nderfoot’s a bog
e very field’s a slog
l isten as each step
c lodly burps us on
h ome in muddy wellies
…
…
clementine
grey day coat
falcon feather duster
cocktail sticks
raven feather boa
dolly mixture sweets
chocolate too
a second hand thyrsus
cuckoo sun dial
a phrygian cap
white wax candle
…
…
the fully-clothed streaker
wore a sandy hoodie
baggy like a yesteryear
underneath a blue tu coat
but so low it overlapped
t-shirt first though
layer under-over layer
so many layers
baggy black tracky b’s
two boxers below
even grey woollen gloves
( five squid from matalan )
odd socks as always
white trainers from shoezone
( formerly bacons )
plus a green sheepy hat
so only the face
was truly exposed
to the frosty winds of truth
but the little village botlings
still saw flesh
fabric became skin
in the squint of the night
dim from a distance
a striptease with no strip – or tease
( should have gone to specsavers )
…
…
potato farls
ginkgo biloba
an antique farthing
magnesium citrate
rider-waite tin
lutein supplements
a can of ectoplasm
zinc in tablet form
a bus card home
a bull shark’s pelvis bone
answers on book shelves
…
…
the morning wore a fez
& everyone ate flapjack
perhaps the stars agree
& so the starlings crow
the robins didn’t peck
the archbishop’s fat balls
beginning when its spinning
upon this cosmic egg
a ripple in your journal
& colonel mustard’s gas
the gaps between each simile
a sea of silver darlings
a varnished table leg
a cappuccino sheen
the ghost of old november
her bugles & bassoons
remember this & glisten
the river in your ear
a disappearing here
the horn on each gazelle
electric jellied eels
she’ll never text you back
the evening burped too soon
a dirge in perfect purple
…