Poem

muse news musings

~

muse news musings ( a poem that isn’t about muesli )

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your muse is news - the paper cries

as tea mugs steam & low cloud stirs

perhaps the sun will shine my shoes

when light beams through in sudden bursts

i think out loud as pigeons sigh

& bookworms feast on dog-eared words

oh muddled daze of much ado

your gift was but a muddled curse


this much is true yet wild boar glide

as hen fangs rip & dead cats purr

perhaps the moon will mow my lawn

when lowly ink still finds the verse

to buzzard on as swallows dive

& robins bob - observe the birds

my muse is news - no tears weep i

thanks fuck & phew - things have been worse

...

otter’s pockets

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otter’s pockets ( 32 lines of wobble )

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basket weaving - bastard evenings

dog in clover - eyes in sockets

apples bobbing - pears are peeling

thoughts are swimming - mind myopic

windows smearing - kettle's steaming

multiverses - that's the tonic

poles are flipping - ice is screaming

unplugged t.v - otter's pockets


toast is smoking - piffle's calling

hares are boxing - merry easters

walls are cracking - dawn is snoring

palmate newts are hailing caesars

dozing moments - rarely boring

cheeky monkeys - bloody rhesus

glitter patters on the awning

biblical say saul & peter


gold is hiding - fools are gleaming

there in may was lucy locket

rivers weeping - streams are scheming

foxgloves, bluebells, valves & sockets

night is bright when day is dreaming

verse is birds - bees in their bonnets

tennis ankles - crickets teeming

spitting feathers - brown clouds - top shit


bollocks itching - mice are roaring

multitudes in millimetres

ears have noses - walls are talking

lollipops & lotus eaters

winks are winging - boards are scoring

well dressings as balance teeters

fingers crossed we'll kiss the morning

pyrrhic wins shall not defeat us

...

critique-fodder

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critique -fodder ( a short poem about motherfuckers )

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is this a poem?

how about now?

milk the wild thistle

& tickle the cow


is this a poem?

squint as you read

stroke your chin bristle

& wobble your knees


is this a poem?

what do you think?

blow your tin whistle

& lick at the ink


was that a poem?

how did it fare?

did it ring fizzles

& why should we care?

...

as & &

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as & & ( 120 syllable read )

…




as the brown fox leaps the green flea

& fuchsia clang in chimes

as the chainsaw hugs the oak tree

& the blank verse starts to rhyme


as the salt pot shuns the deep sea

& the cyclops leads the blind

as the ibex ride the rough scree

& the faux pas meet landmines


as the feather fights the mild breeze

& the evening blackbird chimes

as the cockerel clucks at chickpeas

& a mist falls in the mind


as the bonnet irks the wild bee

& the millstone feels the grind

just plod on & keep it lively

wanders of another kind

...

that dream again

~

that dream again ( some sheet )

…



feathers for fingers & cat flaps on mars

wanders on venus & clogs in hot cars

florists on calpol & vikings in jars

badgers are strumming on bastard guitars


bishops in crystals & whale song in shoes

bagpipes in black holes & yetis in trews

monday in sunday & tuesday in lieu

saxons are flaxen to addle the muse


light in my left hand & shpherds in bras

strangers in mangers & dogfish in stars

troughs in the peakland & barn owls in bars

march hares are marching through barmy bazaars


voles in old coal mines & cowslips in moos

darkness in sundials & clocks in cuckoos

pole vault the scots pine & tickle the shrew

what does it all mean?

we haven't a clue

...