in the magician’s pocket

twenty yards of rope

rope for floating boats

chocolate coins

seven pence in shrapnel

the royal philharmonic

an obligatory rabbit

fifty five pineapples

an oxbow lake

a dove-shaped pigeon

a throbbing wand

/ magic parsnip

two more universes

my glamorous assistant

a bone-dry otter

skeleton backdoor keys

& your card all along

the frogmen & the beekeepers

not just the policemen

but the frogmen & the beekeepers

are getting younger too

& yesteryear’s saplings

are forests instead

i walk in them each morning

& often still get lost

or stuck in throbbing thicket

in between broadsides

& water slide moments

hostas in a bathtub

where’s my pile cream?

the queen’s a bloody bloke

who married a mare

the price of eggs is soaring

like a paragliding buzzard

spring checklist

crocus croaking in the dawn

rebbit as the rabbits spawn

      choral mornings stirring bees

      blossom on the yawning trees

petals on a greening gust

snowing so the feathers dust

      shelves & delves in lofts above

      turpentine, a turtle dove

missing marbles in the head

pan is in the garden shed

      lions roaring like a lamb

      venus from a giant clam

circles from the second sun

crosses on a y’ easter bun

      mars is marching on again

      dancing apes in april rain

ribbons swishing round a pole

yonder is a prancing foal

      tumbleweed & clarinets

      daffodils – the rest forgets

down amongst the dingle’s ring

when the stinging nettles sing

      as a badger shags a fox

      tick another fucking box

today’s spoilers

( author notes )

dear reader, the following bollocks contains spoiler alerts

from the next exiting episode of your life

so if you don’t want to know what happens next

then don’t read on

( final warning & on we go )

it all begins with birdsong

it won’t rain ’til teatime

you won’t spot an otter

or a headless horseman

or dance the macarena

with a member of the clergy

the morning toast will burn again

you’ll hear a milkman whistle

a t.v theme from yesteryear

& see a grey squirrel

chase a black cat

then smell a stagnant pond

you’ll drink a cappuccino

with extra chocolate sprinkles

you’ll catch the wrong bus

the sun’s is still a hot cross bun

the moon is still its lunacy

that rash disappears

you’ll sneeze three times

plus the poetry flows

so your constipation clears

( with aplomb )

something of the other

a bit bitten off by
false hen’s teeth

the slightest little slither
of a snake-shaped cake

traces of faces
in yawning morning fog

a shred of marmalade
a scrap of a yard

a smidgeon of a pigeon
in among the cats

one or two tulips
thirty three fir trees

a few more footsteps
in a country mile

something of the other
& the inkling of a smile