i heart asparagus


i heart asparagus ( sugarapsa traeh i )

oh, green sparrow grass

anagram of aura gasps

spearing me dearly

goes saying the as


goes saying the as ( sa eht gniyas seog )

time to feed the unicorns
& face the candle’s bright

morris dance on mercury
& see the carrot knight

fight the cabbage dragon or
paint the piper’s door

kiss the vicar’s knicker drawer
& bid you all goodnight

a bits of a poemz


a bits of a poemz ( zmeop a fo stib a )

the bus was late

like henry the eighth

      ( who died

        in fifteen forty seven )

ten passed two

& eleven went twelve

      ( washing machines

        live longer with calgon )

vans car by

but cars van faster

      ( they should have seen it coming

        – the tay bridge disaster )

phil collin’s middle names

are david & charles

      ( there goes godot

        in his souped-up milk float )

sixteen down

in the cryptid crossword

     ( a badger & an otter

       crossed with an owl )

according to guiness

the oldest known woodlouse

      ( was aged eighty seven

        & two months – in dog years )

cats can’t dance

the macarena backwards

      ( & the blackpool tower

        is taller than saint paul’s )

why this trivia?

yonder is a songbird

      ( shitting on the vicar’s

        peter storm cagoule )

june salad


june salad ( dalas enuj )

foxglove gulliver

goosegrass troubadour

puck lore undertones

deep green clover

how now, trouser press?

great big little owl

fusilli field mouse

flowery treetops

row, row rosary

ray gun ganymede

butterscotch bathtub

toejob telegram

plimsole solstice

pineapple panpipes

blue moon’s phallacies

blooming raspberries

( author notes )

if i ever write a poem

about binley mega chippy

then please, please, please

shoot me in the fucking head

bullocks in the graveyard


bullocks in the graveyard ( daryevarg eht ni skcollub )

through the rotten fence
where the ash branch fell

on soaked oak posts
after indra bolted

came the storming hordes
of cloven hoofed yoofs

tagged like wrong’uns
out on parole

mooing for freedom
in the doldrums of june

cheeky fresian bastards
hared upon the greenery

fucking up the grass
chomping on the flowers

in the crystal vases
as the vicar legged it

larking like tomorrow
is a distant cousin

as the farmer napped
in the haybarn’s loft

death row’s fugitives
next month’s bourguignon

patted with aplomb
on your true love’s headstone

dox ’em all


dox ’em all ( lla me’ xod )

marmaduke mcmarzipan
six crisp crescent
leamington foot spa

pantheus wilson
eighty eight smegma lane
summer settee

susan supernovaton
two bubblewrap avenue
sheep shear shire

gavin magnetron-jones
no fixed adobe
– possibly a ghost

why the nuck fot?


why the nuck fot? ( ?tof kcun eht yhw )

singing sea shanties
in the east midlands

building snowmen
in the amazon jungle

looking for smiths
in a chinese phone book

playing games of twister
with a goblin – on the moon

living in an igloo
on a solar spot

spoonerising on – yeah
– why the nuck fot?

writing the tripe
of another offal pun

shaving the hair
off a dolphin’s head

russian roulette
with your shadow at noon

all make more sense
than bugger all instead

dreams of the past


dreams of the past ( tsap eht fo smaerd )

the twentieth century
is eating pot noodles

in a shell suit
while the miners strike

the nineteenth century
is reading frankenstein

dressed like jack the ripper
on the flying scotsman

the eighteenth century
is humming bars of mozart

in a river mill town
in a mantua gown

all the former centuries
old but never dead

dozing in a nursing home
between teatime & bed

f l o w i n g


f l o w i n g ( g n i w o l f )

eathers on a breeze

      fists in the yeah

      first class stampedes

eaves on the river

      lemons that blow

      lyrics from the otherland

nce the cock is up

      onions shed their skins

      order is reborn

aving like an x-ray

      waddle like a duckling

      when the tongue’s untied

n between ebbs

      itchy rectal passages

      icing me cakehole

evermore’s a nob’ead

      notes the spillage idiom

      now is a cloudburst

lowing inside your

      golden noggin’s

      gobshite hinterland