Poetry

the things we dream

~

the things we dream ( maerd ew sgniht eht )

…

bits of yesterdaze
kiss tomorrow’s lips
unwritten inklings
the shape of a poem

paper plane tickets
a whale in the dales
necromantic twitchers
resurrecting dodos

splashes of flashbacks
from crap past lives
the simp who drank the milk
from cleopatra’s bathtub

cowherds on mu
accountants on atlantis
running from the flood
& hordes of zombie in-laws

mares in the nightie
where the buggers bite
then the leverets play
hares of the day

waking with a grin
once we’ve lobbed rotten veg
at old headmasters
stuck in the stocks

…

oh, groany bones

~

oh, groany bones ( senob ynoorg ,ho )

…

jigsaw eyes see

hello, hollow water

holes in the soles

of tuesday’s shoes

dripping bits of wednesday

sooner than expected

p’s jumping q’s

in my alphabet soup

where’s is the fly?

scribble i & sigh

somewhere other

– locked in your airing cupboard

…

please bear in mind

~

please bear in mind ( dnim ni raeb esaelp )

…

leaves on the line

saturday teatime

sixteen down

owls underground

sodium hydroxide

caesar’s word salad

seventeen across

broken biscuit english

a pebble in your shoe

two pied wagtails

phasers set to stun

the moon beneath the sun

the shape of last wednesday’s

iridescent chinstrap

horizontal lightning

& impromptu picnics

…

dream snippet sheet

~

dream snippet sheet ( teehs teppins maerd )

…

freddie mercury

sang living on my own

on the planet mercury

to an audience of owls

& trans-nightjars

who identify as owls

( species is a social construct )

meanwhile on earth,

the prophet-man muhammad

plays a set of swingball

with a then fluorescent ewok

upon the mossy lawn

watch that backhand

– three treecreepers

four white stags

on the tip of mam tor

krishna-christ tickles

the toe’s of anne frank’s kitty

who his so well

that the nazis never found her

sevens suns rose

like muffins in the oven

said your step-godmother

but dressed as an elf

in a telepath tongue

( ? )

…

a load of old showbiz necro-cults

~

a load of old showbiz necro-cults ( stluc-orcen dlo fo daol a )

…

& a nightingale farts

like a pat upon the pastures

      from the arse of a bull

      but in berkley square

 where x-r morris dance

dressed as gloaming ghosts

      in bleach white sheets

      ironed by a maid

silent like the actress

who drinks the blood of shrews

      on a tuesday afternoon

      or a certain thursday morning

goading the gas

from the reverend rectal passage

    pissing on the pulpit

     with ruby red paint

as the quiz show host

with a secret goblin mistress

      vomits on a furry

      in his dungeon dressing room

see these manic mannequins

wanking abstract mime

    bobbing like cadavers

    in a pop star’s hot tub

…

inking not sinking

~

inking not sinking ( gniknis ton gnikni )

…

plod the trail of snail
once upon a chapter one
catch a passing tale

writing like a ghost
penning then of phantom friends
letters in the post

piffle on a pad
paddles up a squeaking creek
scribbles of the mad

tickle as a rib
in the static attic’s flap
dancing with a nib

rise ‘n’ take a sheet
wake the willing fool & spool
quill the incomplete

never-ending list
of a morning’s yawning spawn
pissing in the mist

…