sun petal vessels

& the yellow of your chin

spreading on meadows

( author notes )


this poem is dedicated

to all the poor, poor victims

of the latest terrible thing


the man on the news

said it was absolutely terrible

& who are we to disagree?


social media is abuzz

with heartfelt hashtags

from kind & genuine souls


who can’t help but show everyone

how much they deeply care

about all those affected


so spare a thought & pray

for the ones that terrible, terrible thing

left in a terrible mess

a brief history of codswallop

codswallop was invented
in eighty three a.d
by an old roman fishwife
called codswallopia

codswallop’s the musings
of a confused confucius
or the simian key
in a monkey puzzle tree

possibly that saturday
in a month of mondays
big bang cultists
– the reductionist brigade ( gasp )

codswallop is banned
in belgium & azerbaijan
throughout the isle of sark
& parts of botswana

codswallop’s the reason
why i shout at clouds
hedgehogs fly with pigs
& some folk wear face-nappies

codswallop’s – a love sonnet
or a branch of d.f.s
with no sale on
because of all those mud-floods

where do those scarecrows go?

where do those scarecrows go
when the harvest-fest is over?

up to their home planet
in a magic flying combine?

maybe they’re the ghosts
of former farmer folk

& so they teleport – with thought
back to bumpkin afterlife?

possibly, these scarecrows
with straw instead of flesh

& second hand hats
with gaps on the brim

tour & see the world
– her pyramids & penguins

until spring sings
then duty calls – oh

where do scarecrows go
– alas, we’ll never know

( ? )

the madness of snow

first, the flutter of a swan

dans the druff & catches on

as the crystal fungus spores

so a tosser wanders yon


shudders in an ermine realm

squawks beneath the birch & elm

songing sings of winter’s wars

when a penguin’s at the helm


then the so’s a polar bear

breath is speckles in the air

spring, the hinge in swinging doors

grease her up & frolic there


mars is marches in ‘is boots

parping with the brussel’s toots

buzzing while the buzzard soars

carpeting the greening shoots


while the white is still allowed

from a non-“progressive” cloud

dawdle ’til the blanket thaws

magic is this – shining shroud


plodding beats with yeti feet

’til the sheet is pouring sleet

& a thankful river roars

then – alas – the spell’s complete 

the truth about lord nelson

lord nelson had one eye
lord nelson had one leg
lord nelson had sixteen nipples
lord nelson invented spandex
hot pants, bitumen & vimto
lord nelson went to mow
went to mow a meadow
lord nelson had
an affair with pat butcher
& a punch-up in the woolpack
with cain bloody dingle
lord nelson played
saxophone on baker street
backgammon with elvis
& hammond organ
on a whiter shade of pale
plus games of naked twister
with eva braun & hitler
lord nelson spoke
beautifully fluent
vulcan & klingon
with a romulan accent
lord nelson had – a ten foot wanger
lord nelson grouted my bathroom
a fortnight later
all the tiles fell out

our daily bread

cobs for the male swans

sliced white for the n.p.c’s

wholemeal for our bowels

rolls for hill walkers

& those on choppy seas

baps for the crap jokes

( as told by tits )

soldiers for a runny egg

banana when the bread

is a secret cake instead

( ssshhh )

stale for summer pudding

charred black toast – for the carbon god

& crusts

for the ducks

( amen )

do poem

do feed the animals
do run indoors
do sing a song
do another poem
do the write thing
do the twist
do the funky chicken
do wash your hands
do pay with cash
do keep the change
do cut your own hair
do ride a sine wave
do save the whale
do bring back the dodo
do the ess in maths
do the pee in ptarmigan
do the village bike
do wear a helmet
do the garden hedge
do take sugar
do-bee-do bee-shoe
do scrape that barrel
do the fandango
do agadoo too
do pay the piper
do mind the gap
do brush your teeth
do get to sleep
do a to-do list
do their fuckin’ heads in
do take photographs
– don’t ever stop