Poetry

death’s curative curtains

…

now he’s in heaven

professor steven hawking

mud wrestles angels

…

( author notes )

i’ve been thinking a lot about
professor stephen hawking
again recently

not so much for his science
i.e writing some unreadable bollocks
about time & blackholes
or inventing the daleks
on his home planet of skaro

no, not that professor stephen hawking

but the singer, professor stephen hawking
his unique range, tone & delivery
on tracks like the club banger
blue with eiffel 65
or around the world
his daft punk collaboration
or of course – we are the robots
his sick kraftwerk mash-up

now, that to me
is professor stephen hawking
his one-off style
a true maverick
such an underrated vocalist
probably the vox g.o.a.t
but he lives on in his music

( amen )

…

an open letter to athlete’s foot

…

dearest athlete’s foot,

the bitch to end all itches

you funky fungal swine

i’ve known you since super glue

was still super

as gorilla glue

still hadn’t been invented

yes, i met you when

magician’s assistants

could split themselves in two

& everyone drank

vanilla yazoo

since swimming at school

cold changing room floors

you’ve bullied me

& stalked me all my lifespan

like your sister blister

& uncle verruca

you’ve picked on both my pediments

the left & the other

& pecked like a crow

in between the toe

sore red sores

from your phantom spores

so i say – no more

a hurtin’ & a harmin’

i know you’ll never change

so i apply daktarin

( take that )

…

the inevitable summer poem

…

summer, summer

sand in sandwiches

cuckoo spit

goose bumps & goosegrass

summer, summer

nettles stinging kneecaps

b.o & beeswax

factor two hundred

summer, summer

stampeding bullocks

fat spring lambs

& another maiden over

summer, summer

a thorny rose garden

jars of picalilli

as another midgey bites

summer, summer

johnny-cum-lately

rediscovers outdoors

( where were you in january? )

summer, summer

toms in the greenhouse

blueberry skies

& lobster red gingers

wonder, wonder

will the bishop notice

your varicose veins

& leg-tat’ of him?

summer, summer

golden bales of hay

after a cloudburst

another lovely day

…

lost in muse muesli

…

purring like a cataract

as a splatter of a splatter of a fact

      mattering like missing links

      glugging like those kitchen sinks

smiling like the morning sun

choking like a smoking gun

      gloaming like the even’ tide

      falling fast – with her abide

floating like a sylphid friend

futures blooming past the bend

      dancing like the pants of ants

      blessing like a second chance

sneezing like a garden gnome

larking while the statues roam

      shining like an eggheads crown

     if the noon is booming down

bucking like a fucking mule

steaming like a bowl of gruel

      rocky like gibraltar’s strait

      wonky like the curate’s gait

likeable – just like a like

rideable like old school bikes

      such is her analogy

      like another – simile

…