“where the bee sucks, there suck i”
( ariel )
…
that is why we need
a spine plus an appendix
& index fingers
…
october salad
“bring me my spear; o clouds unfold!”
( william blake )
…
toadstool cushions
gnomes gone fishing
fission not fusion
flatpack furnishings
further in the foghorn
haunted orchard gate
gone with the windmill
snails in a gale
alpacas, llamas
summer in pyjamas
spot the baboons
in hot air balloons
fungal fayre rides
feather duster there
egg fried ricin
rutting stags & hags
werewolf whistles
a turnip for the books
leaves on the lane
stomach acid rain
ghosts on toast
goblins & bats
west winds, vest stings
& woollen bobble hats
…
( author moans )
wordpress keeps cutting off my photos
it’s been going on for a few days now
i don’t understand …
maybe it’s the dimensions?
does everything have to be a standard size now?
fuck knows coz i don’t
but if you go on resarfpoetry.blog
you can still see the full images
… thanks & huff over ( for now )
…
auditing poetry
” yo … “
( a.b )
…
from the public footpath
on the corner of the page
or the pavement beyond
the imaginary fence
spot the words at work
see the rhymes in chime
forklifts loaded
with brevity on pallets
front loaders heaving
with weighty metaphors
verse smiths reversed
in poem loading bays
await the latest model
designed by muses
but built by milksops
& angry cat ladies
fly a drone over
the stanzas & the strophes
if the weather isn’t shite
( keep in line of sight )
film & photograph
all that you can see
they can film you so
– fuck security
…
bird poets
” never play leapfrog with a unicorn “
( roy walker )
…
homering pigeon
e. emu cummings
elizabeth barret brown owl
charles barnowlski
oscar wild fowl
john cooper lark
spoonbill shakespeare
shearwater de la mare
samuel taylor chaffinch
simon ptarmiganage
william crake
emily, anne
& charlotte swantë
carol anne ducky
saph sparrow
edgar allan crow
…
gone magnet fishing
” smoke me a kipper, i’ll be back for breakfast “
( ace rimmer )
…
gone magnet fishing
for tins of crab & mackerel
baked beans, sweetcorn
– blue fin tuna
perhaps a coat hanger
a ten p piece
a can of lemon fanta
from nineteen ninety seven
a tesco shopping trolley
from twenty fourteen
rusted like the kneecaps
of a geriatric robot
another magnet fisher
dragged in by their rod
swearing all the way
– catch of the day
a drawing pin
from last fortnight
the backdoor key
of your local mortuary
or an unexploded shell
what the luftwaffe dropped
so if not home by five
– call the bloody bomb squad
…
the ghost of billy milkinson
” kiss my axe ! “
( sláine )
…
the ghost of billy milkinson
still goes ten pin bowling
every tuesday teatime
he brings his own shoes
he cannot fly a plane
or play the vibraphone
& feeds the ducks crusts
from his kingsmill loaf
the ghost of billy milkinson
sleeps in a flat pack
cabin bed
he bought from ikea
& drives an unleaded
red renualt clio
like an old man
in a coma
but in the afterlife
with his dead cat, clarence
in the non-corporeal
midlands
the ghost of billy milkinson
plays naked twister
with the queen of sheba
& elizabeth the second
…
the jog on joggers
” let’s do the bongo-laced
twenty-second album “
( nigel worthington )
…
sneaking up behind us
like a randy cellmate
breathe in deep
& don’t drop the soap
as we plod along songs
hands in pockets
rucksack straps
dangle at the back
they of horsey huffs
the bringers of b.o
stinking as they go
in sodden lycra tights
creeping in the night
hunting in the day
ambushing pedestrians
their unsuspecting prey
they of phlegmy snorts
the jog on joggers
darting round corners
like a boy racer
chasing sound’s barrier
joyriding cheetahs
sweating like a nonce
or a rabid hare
pavement or park path
– beware, beware, beware –
…
harvest fest guest list
” if it’s me & your granny on the bongos, it’s the fall “
( mark e. smith )
…
cobb webster
missus q. cumber
miss a. corn
sergeant pickled pepper
si d’urberville
jam broadbent
jean-claude van damson
the creeping in knight
in his thermal tights
anyone who’s surname
is gardener
or farmer
a load of old tarts
the aga oven khan
a turnip for the books
brock olly
messr p. pod
william the conker earl
& tom r. toe
…
a frosty reception
” scorchio “
( paula fisch )
…
grit the lanes again
as jack is back, grab a hat
– thermal underpants –
( ! )
…
come on october
” come on you slags “
( richard d. james )
…
rise from the east
like oriental dough
blow your backendish
breezes with aplomb
bomb us with conkers
& slates from the rooftops
make it rain toadstools
bring us pins & needles
spook us all rigid
with your ghost legends
of headless librarians
& spectral stamp collectors
a phantom flying scotsman
haunts your hornby train set
sing in the mist
go fog yourself
build your bloody bonfire
steal the leafen daydreams
die in the west
like an occidental swan
as per your contract
your storylines & bumf
gone by november
– so we haven’t got all month
…
resarf poetry 