…
the skeletal remains
of yesterday teatime
a temporary bus stop
on the dark side of selene
two pumice pebbles
in your left espadrille
everything slows down – even
particle accelerators
the arse of king arthur
on your burnt english muffin
the clouds retreated like
a cockerel versus crocodiles
the b-road layby
in the corner of your eye
is gammy like last friday
since the crossword setter vanished
…
…
on a muddled day
as the beanstalks climb
up ‘n’ up away
blue bewilders grey
once upon a rhyme
pen the when of then
with the wink of know
chuckle rubber hen
murmur maids in men
fishy be thy flow
paper planes ‘n’ cars
magic carpet burn
phantom handlebars
yonder’s trah-luh-lahs
yesterday’s an urn
open books ‘n’ worms
squirming in tin cans
aahs becoming erms
piffle reaffirms
shat is hitting fans
sigh a butterfly
sun between the rain
as the crowbars fly
speckled you & i
dot the dots again
…
…
tractor beam evening
two wood pigeons
new grey trainers
us below in though
or shadow plus one
up on his lamppost
do you coo too?
vegetables & voodoo
singsong sixish
mister porter’s daughter
thoughts of missus worthington
sun behind the curtains
certain of your skirting boards
& unburnt crumpets
five sips left
aluminium tripods
…
…
wild grass season
wild rye & wheat
sedge below the hedgerow
by the boggy ditch
picture this my pitchfork
tongued yokel lover
hay field trips
where the air is sneezes
& grass snakes slither
like your wheelbarrow hips
…
…
the bracken bracing east
because the baker burnt so
a curtain in your twitches
face the kitchen window
& blow me a kismet
…
…
two spare buttons
round like burial mounds
cyclical discs
circular like logic
on the surface of an echo
stand the sentinel them
sewn like a seedling
tight threadwork
woven in for coming wars
& accidents & neither or’s
beneath the inside pocket
of your lucky green jacket
…
…
unplugged in glug
improv workshop window
open both the doors
unbolting lightning
best before each morning
like a sleeping tree
rearranging puddles
on the grey car park
interjecting jet streams
burnt tongue offerings
green parakeet street
yet that clarinet
…
…
decalcify
the white cliffs of dover
& call the eiffel tower
‘the poundland blackpool tower’
flatten arthur’s seat
& let’s have arthur’s patio
rename the taj mahal
it’s already several restaurants
that all do chicken bhuna
& let’s build h.s 2
from here to timbuktu
or the arse end of mongolia
…
…
while the wise crow flies
in zig-zag directions
while onion dicers weep
& the resting dough expands
while the soap star dies
& the stunt man explodes
while occasional tables
pretend that they’re a chair
while your air guitar
gently plucks a scale &
while the curate’s egg
is scrambled for your breakfast
while temporary bus stops
disappear from here again
i’ll write another postcard
to your uncle rose in scunthorpe
…
…
tuesday morning swanned in
with the gutsy grace
of a fatso ballerina
with popcorn lung
after sunday’s oh so
suspicious demise
maybe colonel mustard
was clueless too in cluedo
& mrs. white staged it all
with a crafty poem
then legged it for the sunshine
or got bored with board games
( ? )
as lizards bask in warm
summer something blizzards
let a second moon hatch
from the cracking shell
of the scrambled eggheads head
in a muddle’s up
peaches inside stones
fruitful be thy quarry
…
