Poetry

this poem is not

~

this poem is not ( ton si meop siht )

…

this poem is not
a chartist or a carlist
or an anteater
called tony

this poem is not
a goblin in a dress
or your long haired lover
from skegness

this poem is not
the severn bore’s tusks
or a scotch egg
bought from scotch corner

this poem is not
the code of a bot
seven – pee – three – four
eighty eight & apricot

this poem is not
scentless like hibiscus
or a werewolf under
brighter blue moons

this poem is not
your prodigal uncle
or your nan’s only fan
on only fans

this poem was written
in between sips
of toffee – which is coffee
crossed with tea

this poem is not
the missing link
available in beige
or the kitchen sink

– no chance

…

this is not a war song

~

this is not a war song ( gnos raw a ton si siht )

…

once upon a now
as a bullish fresian cow
pats upon the leas

like the gosling shite
of the proper gander walrus
they of frozen seas

them of muzzle up
back in season seventy
thousand three threes

treble eleven
with its potholes in plotlines
splitting like the peas

we are not a bot
tangled in the bramble’s arms
stiller than a frieze

children of the egg
fooling on beyond the song
of a swan with fleas

see the garden glint
glimmer in a mirror’s eyes
normalzzz snoring zees

blue is just the sky
yellow – just a buzzing hue
( feasting bumblebees )

blow the latest thing
like a pollen sneezing breeze
eat my bellend cheese

…

armchair critics

~

armchair critics ( scitirc riahcmra )

…

her cabriole legs

are different lengths

      she wobbles like

      an old school desk

the welt is worn

the stitching torn

      the springs have sprung

      like a fat man’s mattress

the cushions don’t match

in fact – they clash

      she smells of cat

      & geriatric admirals

her stretcher x

has snapped in two

      so vees instead

      her apron’s stained

her manchette arms

are squeaking beasts

      if sat upon

      she creaks a shriek

so all in all

a trendless setter

      i’m no carpenter

      but i could do better

…

santa claus in late may

~

santa claus in late may ( yam etal ni sualc atnas )

…

hoe, hoe, hoe
the dandelions

on the frostless
rockery

pause for tea
or a makeshift picnic

not sherry
or a bloody mince pie

trim, trim, trim
a summertime beard

holly berries
well unready

red currants rising
redder than before

reindeer graze
under whitsun’s white sun

no snow though
green beam the grasslands

elves gone a.w.o.l
off their nuts

missus christmas
left me for the milkman

mister kipling
or mister whippy

( who was it this time? )

…

b3f4h8-o905vk24f

~

b3f4h8-o905vk24f ( f42kv509o-8h4f3b )

…

six percent of statisticians

eat marshmallows for breakfast

eighty eight thousand

have never seen a barn owl

two thirds feed

a tomcat called gavin

tins of sardines

& tiramisu

nine percent grow

begonias in their garden

three quarters of fact checkers

piss in antique teapots

one in five analysts

live inside a pie chart

seventy seven percent

snorkle in freshwater

…

t w a d d l e

~

t w a d d l e ( e l d d a w t )

…

t en thousand turnips

television tentacles

turpentine turnstiles

w hile winds weather west

wombats, wombles, wishing wells

whitsuntide whistles

a s arthur awakes

apple anoraks abound

aardvark armistice

d umpling dunces dee

double-dutch ducklings dance

dandelions droop

d ruids drink daydreams

daleks discover dada

dyslexic dentists

l ettuces lemon

lemurs licking lichtenstein’s

lumpen, leaden legs

e pileptic eels

elemental elephants

excalibur eggs

…