( ? )

upon a sodden morning plod

…

another daze on muddle earth
around the sound of browning turf
another death, another birth
a beetle’s back, a heaving clod

the eventide, the onion’s skin
a ghost within a stroking chin
the see y’ then in let’s begin
the splash is back, the path is trod

a green retreat, the gist of so
a smoker stubs his little toe
the roar is but the river’s flow
& strucken like a lightning rod

the day’s awash – a roaming sea
a badger in a bladder’s scree
is wazzing on the ash’s tree
& sinking with a winking nod

the breezes wheeze the cheese’s chalk
& ponder as the corvids squawk
the bend is yet another fork
an odyssey in socks of odd

a scattering of chatter’s brain
a bucket load o’ soaking rain
& fuck it’s pissing on again
upon a sodden morning plod

…

let’s

…

let’s write a poem
& bore them all rigid

let’s sing a song
in the key of skeleton major

let’s catch a bus
or a hypersonic tram

let’s collect stamps
from stampeding wildebeest

let’s swim with dolphins
– narwhals & krakens

let’s ride an old bike
– a penny farthing or katie price

let’s paint a scene
an acrylic photograph

let’s eat noodle soup
& stain the linen tablecloth

let’s plant bulbs
( daffodil & halogen )

let’s go window shopping
& buy a wooden sash

let’s walk the moors
& plod beneath the grey

let’s pretend it’s tomorrow
we haven’t got all day

…

night quiz

…

but can the foxes foxtrot

– perhaps a raunchy rumba?

      & is the blue moon stilton

      – cambazola or buxton?

do barn owls barn dance too

& sometimes roost in sheds?

      & if so – are they barn owls

      or “shed owls” then instead?

why’s the sun invisible?

where the eff’s it gone?

      do the dead snore?

      do birds dream they’re human?

do shooting stars shoot blanks?

how do those vampires shave

      – as mirrors won’t do shit?

      are ghosts afraid of us

– the quizzical insomniacs

who amble, stroking chins?

      how do bats fly upright?

      is the plough a question mark?

– what is the question?

wonders the sky out loud

      sounding off again

      – belt it up, orion

…

the war in france

…

the war in france, the secret war
is shushy-shush – so say no more

it must be grim for all of those
albanians to flee in droves

the frightened men of fighting age
that flee what’s left of death’s rampage

it’s terrible – what can we do
as paris burns & lyon too?

i’ll wave a flag – so all can see
the bravery in humble me

the stunningness in little i
who shall become a butterfly

i’ll jab the kids & wear a frock
i’ll buy some tits but keep me cock

& bend the knee for all who come
the ones that flee the beating drum

of racist climate change’s blitz
they’ll stay forever in the ritz

the dorchester & council flats
throughout this land of bowler hats

of sausage rolls & banging pots
they’ll live with us – we’ll have the lot

beside the thames, the trent, the tyne
or in your house but not ’round mine

…

just about everyone

…

antediluvian
& uncle atlantis

sister cistern
overflowing

father than you think
or a country mile

mother flutter
– moths or butterflies

brother blubber
then green bottles

hang like a bat nap
on the garden walrus

son on the horizon
bishop & away

daughters all & waterfalls
twilight cousins

doctor photographs
professor profess

captain whistle
sergeant owardness

missus the target
& mister riverbank

all organic
non-conformists

…

pears & thereabouts

~

pears & thereabouts ( stuobaereht & sraep )

…

misshapen apples
unmistakably them

merry of the perry
mutants of the fruit world

there in the orchard
where partridges roost

cousins of quince
twins untwinned

fit for a tart
perchance a bar of soap

drops, juice or raw
with a cup o’ rosie lee

watch while they ripen
bulbous like a fatso

pick them two by two
each is unique

…

( author notes )

” you don’t get anything for a pear

– not in this game “

( old trad-anon proverb – at least medieval )

…

a night in the wilds

~

a night in the wilds ( sdliw eht ni thgin a )

…

a little owl growls
& a frog in a bog – howls
so a badger croaks

hark, a moth flutters
& the branches drip like gutters
as the marshland smokes

wafting wisp’s o’ willow
where the sedges are my pillow
& the teasel teases me

or upon the moors
where the hare squawk on all fours
with the fae & she

face the blankless bright
when the woodlands whistle shite
crows the hedgerow’s hog

so the chorus glows
caw the jackdaws in the close
squawking with the dog

…

still overrated

~

still overrated ( detarrevo llits )

…

life as a normalzzz

four-four music

processed pop pap

the plods of a bot

shiny sweatshop shoes

sliced white bread

( bring back bread knives )

black suits at funerals

the kung-flu jib-jab

staying in your lane

net zero none sense

protein shakes

the latest thing’s hot cakes

christmas ( not yule )

magnums & cornettos

cucumber sandwiches

all those fucking poems

especially those sonnets

with cobwebs in their bonnets

the bloody london eye

& binley mega chippy

…