a skein is seen

~

a skein is seen ( nees si nieks a )

autumn’s auspecies

greylags in gaggles

pale or dark bellied

brent from the arctic

like a latin five

marvel at the barnacles

pink footed, tundra

honking on the wind

first is the sound

older than the gold

of a younger, brighter saturn

rasping in the clouds

so we stop & watch

eyes looking skyward

over dead clover

as the mosses green

victory & peace

singing like a symbol

flapping fowl fingers

shades of harvey smith

vees above the trees

geese on a mission

swears up in the air

– up yours ‘n’ all

definitions of a poems

~

definitions of a poems ( smeop a fo snoitinifed )

the journal squirms of dead old men

& spinsters with cobwebs for knickers

the gruel of school, designed to bore

the speak of sleep – & so we snored

with purple spurts & shapes of beige

an open toad upon a page

that no one reads, a dull-de-sac

a sack of shit, a bag of cack

or magic beans for cabbage folk

a cattle prod, an egg, a yoke

a floating ghost or cheese on toast

the tapered tones of nature’s notes

a sort of door, a funky key

the apes & scrapes of monkey me

a letter stuck with music’s glue

( parcelled to parts unknown )

the gaps between the cracks in clouds

a scribble in – & out the other

a shooting star of trar-luh-lar

the lucid dreams of prose in a coma

the twisted lists of brevity’s rants

the ants in pantomime’s pants

the life & times of baa, baa, baa

rhyming, if inclined

& shining like a shining thing

in the can ( & out the other )

~

in the can ( & out the other ) ( ( rehto eht tuo & ) nac eht ni )

~

in the can be mushy peas

prunes with stones

& gloopy custard

~

squirming worms & earthen holes

morning skies

like golden syrup

~

water for the garden gnomes

cannon balls

as cavalry canter

~

in the can be canticles

cantaloupes

& candlemas eve

~

can’s a tin & tin’s a drum

hark, the music

– can you see?

~

in the can be other cans

kicking cans

& dancing the cancan

things to give the widest of berths

~

things to give the widest of berths ( shtreb fo tsediw eht evig ot sgniht )

soap opera weddings
– weddings in general
cornichons & gherkins
letters from the council
torrential cloudbursts
the cult of celebrity
broken bones
anything by coldplay
the b.b.c
the song of the sirens
manna from the skies
the brainstream media
the mask-brigade on twatter
lovebombing bots
never ending surveys
the great reset
anthrax, the black death
allen ginsberg fan’s
– lock up your young sons
cracks on the pavement
unlucky heather
heroin & benylin
my doppelgänger
& matt hancock’s prick

in between poems

~

in between poems ( smeop neewteb ni )

november yodelled

october’s prose

pencils & penfriends

this is not weather map

west winds wept

like a funerary onion

two jackdaws

& the backdoor jammed

marmalade stains

on a blank sheet of paper

parsnip soup

in the corners of your eyes

light bulbs pop

like a weasel in a songbook

chamomile tea

& a spoonful of shudder

clear between the ears

so the mist tiptoed

like a long lost cousin

from a sister universe

in a month of mondays

~

in a month of mondays ( syadnom fo htnom a ni )

calendars & contours
colanders in kitchen sinks
swans are singing encores

once upon the sequels
gleams the green of in between
snoring with the eagles

pour another tea cup
buttered toast & traffic jam
so the stuttered speak up

storming of a morning
mares within the air & hare
where the stagger’s fawning

anoraks & sun rays
ambles on an ashen path
in a month of mondays

scrambles at the deep end
badgers in the thicket’s thatch
tangled ’til the weekend

thoughts beside the estuary

~

thoughts beside the estuary ( yrautse eht ediseb sthguoht )


rivers can be salty – too
like dry roasted scrotal sacks

there’s a shanty in the air
singing tails of dogs at sea

under skies of mutant blue
grains of sand within my shoe

is this the real life?
is this just fantasy?

egrets aren’t actually eagles
– they’re herons

dreaming of sweden

~

dreaming of sweden ( nredewds fo gnimaerd )


i’m dreaming of sweden
whilst eating ryvita
the land of ikea
of blondes & long summers
of forests & saunas
with winters of darkness
but england is darker
& britain is sinking
the nordics are calling
europa is falling
& earth’s in the clutches
of globalist quislings
& pantomime horseplay
so flee east of norway
as ace of base, abba
& stockholm – her syndromes
are chirping like hatchlings
i listen & harken
the garden’s in tangles
with thorns on the brambles
the cure is far worser
a scourge of a killer
as curtains are twitching
& tossers bang pots
the plot is all rotten
the dross at the bottom
so come & run, reader
& leg it with me
we’ll peg from the sniffles
& fuck this scamdemic
bee free from the sheeple
& wankers in masks