mid-july’s musings

~

mid-july’s musings ( sgnisum s’yluj-dim )

…

sing within this mirror land’s
inner-state of flux
rivers shrinking like a quack
– not the stuff of ducks

see the normalzzz spawn emerge
spot the tourists lark
where are they in january
when it’s cold & dark?

hiding like a hidden hand
sucking crumbs of bread
then the tossers barbecue
feast upon the dead

when the garden’s eden-esque
& the thicket’s thick
marmalade’s this snaring air
where the wicket’s stick

night is lurking like a nonce
creeping by the daze
but the hawks & raptors soar
catching gamma rays

buddleia’s a flame again
butterflies – a moth
summer weaves, the woodland heaves
’til she buggers off
…

dry patches

~

dry patches ( sehctap yrd )

…

grass is browning now
a crumpet in the toaster
buttercups spread

sun is orange throbs
flaming david dickinson
oompa loompa star

earth becomes the skin
of tutankhamun’s bollocks
harder than aardvarks

trees in comas float
see the sleeping giants dream
of piss from the gods

betty swollocks spots
thicket in the woodland sing
crickets ‘n’ wickets

clouds growling by like
paper tiger paper planes
– not a drop is dripped
…

( author notes )

david dickinson is an antiques expert
& t.v personality
who may be orange for sectarian reasons
but it’s probably just for the love of cuprinol

…

philatelists

~

philatelists ( stsiletalihp )

…

they came from outer space
or else the dark dimension

they have nine belly buttons
with four upon each elbow

they nest in towns like stroud
chesterfield or cleethorpes

they spawn on bank holiday mondays
& lay their stamp-shaped eggs

in musty cottage corners
or inside anorak pockets

of unsuspecting hosts
( poets / train spotters )

they’re terrified of parsnips
they’ll drop dead if they see one

they eat quiche with a spoon
& live for six thousand moons
…

quill your darlings

~

quill your darlings ( sgnilrad ruoy lliuq )

…

kiss the chin of trad-anon
candlemakers burnin’ on
quakers shaking, bakers rise
roses, clover, edelweiss
scribble in the sylphid air
with a tuffet as a chair
rubber chickens, gloves ‘n’ ducks
butter fingers, buttercups
butterflies in summer rain
peter piper’s pickled brain
in a jar beside the bed
where y’ rest the fuck of head
marbles, martians, martens, swifts
panting ants ‘n’ knicker twists
spinsters stuck up spindle trees
scratch a nap & ink of these
…

khaos luncheon

~

khaos luncheon ( noehcnul soahk )

…

dice a pickled onion

with the sword of damocles

      fry like friar tuck

      or a japanese fly

with a cheesy nob of butter

or a bellend of oil

      on the bottomless bottom

      of an anus-shaped cauldron

stir in the tears

of sonnet-sobbing milksops

      watch ’til it boils

      with the eyes of a lord indra

humming like the horns

of beethoven’s fourth

      scatter phoenix ash

      foliage from phobus

unicorn pubes

& eighty eight parsnips

      add five panpipes

      & fifty seven wednesdays

simmer in the darkness

for six or seven epochs

      serve with steamed greens

      & the battle of the bulge

– enjoy

…

fill in the …

~

fill in the … ( …eht ni llif )

…

b adgers barking, hark

   but the pen’s a pencil case

   bugger all calling

l et there be spanners

   lemon scented letterheads

   light another tab

a nswer with antlers

   attack like helicopters

   arses in the air

n otice then the clocks

   nincompoop this interlude

   not stop ticking

k iss a magic kipper

   kick invisible tree stumps

   knight this greening night

s ight before vision

   scribbles on sabbaticals

   salmon swim sideways

…