…
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
…
…
heads or tails – then see
what us wankers eat for tea
– salad or pancakes… ?
…
…
this poem is only
quick set cement
mixed just for you
& poured in your boots
…
…
yesterdays poem was
a brown cow on the brow
of a windswept hillock
& a pocketful of hay
…
…
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
…
…
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
…
…
( 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 )
…
…
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
…
…
c ould this eel believe?
r ed letter envelope
o nce the bishop sneezed
s tarlings startled the sun
s tegosaurus egg hunt
w hen the cobwebs shuffle
o ther than those duffel coats
r ipen in a cable car
d iabetic lollypop lady
…
…
saved by the laces
on your jammy, new blue shoes
weaved between eyelets
…
( author notes )
pssst –
this here loophole haiku
was originally written under the alias
” lou pole “
…
resarf poetry 