( ? )

chuntering left

…

in between the drops
& the drips from the tap
in the bathroom’s sink

holes for all your pigeons
a smidgeon of ink
a wink & a nod

off before the whistle
yet we never saw
those thunderclouds coming

up from the ground
a mystery is blooming
chuntering left

to this very laptop
& other such devices
download complete

& then repeat
looping those cassettes
retracing echoes

of the future’s spanners
picking up steam’s litter
grabbing at the fog

horns on his head
tread with feathered feet
we, the incomplete

& utter gubbins
fall like an autumn
chorally crow

…

you are here ( s )

…

catching the last
sunbeams of summer
& the first warmth of spring

shivering like timbers
with mittens blue & woollen
in a frosty schoolyard

typing away
with your other monkey chums
writing shakespeare plays

whilst burnt alive
for being a lollard
in the fourteenth century

catching up your umbra
running with a stick
in a three-legged race

tucking away
on a stuffed dormouse
in old londinium

but laughing at the guttering
sputtering down
on a piss wet day

…

journal jerks

…

on a muddled day
as the beanstalks climb
up ‘n’ up away
blue bewilders grey
once upon a rhyme

pen the when of then
with the wink of know
chuckle rubber hen
murmur maids in men
fishy be thy flow

paper planes ‘n’ cars
magic carpet burn
phantom handlebars
yonder’s trah-luh-lahs
yesterday’s an urn

open books ‘n’ worms
squirming in tin cans
aahs becoming erms
piffle reaffirms
shat is hitting fans

sigh a butterfly
sun between the rain
as the crowbars fly
speckled you & i
dot the dots again

…

the mithering of now

…

tractor beam evening
two wood pigeons

new grey trainers
us below in though

or shadow plus one
up on his lamppost

do you coo too?
vegetables & voodoo

singsong sixish
mister porter’s daughter

thoughts of missus worthington
sun behind the curtains

certain of your skirting boards
& unburnt crumpets

five sips left
aluminium tripods

…

something new

…

tuesday morning swanned in
with the gutsy grace
of a fatso ballerina
with popcorn lung

after sunday’s oh so
suspicious demise
maybe colonel mustard

was clueless too in cluedo
& mrs. white staged it all
with a crafty poem
then legged it for the sunshine
or got bored with board games

( ? )

as lizards bask in warm
summer something blizzards
let a second moon hatch

from the cracking shell
of the scrambled eggheads head
in a muddle’s up
peaches inside stones
fruitful be thy quarry

…