…
perhaps with a scratch
on a scrambled egghead
in a phantom passage
bricked like the it
when we see our own ghost
yet the tawny owl hoots
while the what’s unaware
like a climate changeling
with bright blue hair
in green jackboots
so the song is a swan
& this desk is his nest
…
…
the pen keeps runnin
as if by magi
at the end of each sentec
in spite of what is written dow
once more out of in
…
…
a funny man walked into
a funny happenstance
on the way to the doctor
– doctor – knock, knock – who’s
there to change a lightbulb
( ? )
…
…
scribbled in the midlands
by a scroat in odd socks
lit by tealight
up before the farmers
read by smoky fishwives
praetorian gardeners
rabid traffic wardens
& seasick oceanographers
at least it’s not the sobbings
of your godmother’s sonnets
or the catatonic purrs
of your long lost uncle’s prose
may contain monkey
nuts & the other
best before last century
peaked in antiquity
i blame the belgians
the gypos & the methodists
sod this for a stare-off
with a freshly painted wall
( huff )
…
…
six granary baps
a pint of semi-skimmed milk
peaches & pile cream
…
…
disappearing here
the light behind the windows
seven pence in shrapnel
a song about an owl
moans the mourning milksop
unaware of cobwebs
poking the moon
with a plastic teaspoon
…
…
sonnets of a dawn
or a mid-morning haiku
a high noon haibun
…
…
lines upon remembering
my second-hand memory
foam mattress & pillow
…
…
another suitcase
inside a suitcase
inside a suitcase
inside a suitcase
inside a suitcase
…
…
further than a murmur
certain like curtains
but not this what
which is where we why
wind her down slow now
winking back
at the moon in the garden
barking back
at the tree’s line work
drawing down the sun
runners in each bean
patient ‘fore the seeding
unfunding yesterdays
focus on the crocus
licking your tulips
singing in springs
waxwings & saddle soap
custard in cans
cobweb feet
cauliflower earlobes
deep green tomorrow
dangle like bats
bow like the low cloud
& clear this morning mist
– err evening’s reborn us
…
