( ? )

outrage outro

…

inserting turnips

where the sun don’t stroke

sack the t.v chef

    guillotine the d.j

    chastise the m.p

    rage at the bots

the what’s & the not’s

the lollipop lady

that eats her own roadkill

    twisting frilly knickers

    y-fronts & what the fuck’s

    gasping pantomimes

the a.i e-thot

that ran out of code

so the cloud devoured her

    read all around it

    the pilchard poet

    that wore odd socks again

dot them dots then

droning like a chainsaw

whispering foghorns

    huffing all morning

    twatting all the mirrors

   steaming ’til evening

…

poetical scapegoats

…

poetry stole my last rolo
& gave my cousin, clarabel
athlete’s foot

poetry became the winter wind
& frisked six nuns
standing at the bus stop

poetry shat
on the bishop’s mitre hat
when hiding in the guise of a pigeon

poetry pissed on doctor foster
rained all morning
& smoked all the catnip

poetry burnt down the scout hut too
back in twenty twelve
but was never found out

poetry dead-legged
farmer arthur-martha
then misgendered their cockerel

poetry did not shoot the sheriff
it was pfizer in his left arm
moderna in his right

but poetry drank all the vimto
& gave your great-aunt doris
crabs & lice – twice

…

( xxvii )

…

swans on a wander
once upon a tongue

twist in the river’s mist
this is not a shopping list

songs beyond the fade
out & about turn

facing reflections
rippled puddle water

then of a plodness
when december’s embers

gloam like a ghost
float awhile in limbo land

standing where the two
full rivers converge

a pebble in your shoe
& a leftover sandwich

…

re last boxing day

…

caught the morning sunshine
hide behind a duvet

wore a pair of rudolph socks
sought the grail again

heard a jackdaw overhead
cackle like sid james

plodding on the heathland
as the gorses glowed

golden like a ratio
like a sandwich filling

stilton & cold stuffing
with a thud of english mustard

defended rorke’s drift
then thwarted ming the merciless

drank flat lemonade
slept on the sofa bed

…

the western wind’s a friend

…

upon this avalon
the winsome hinges squeak
the tide is in between
the novels plot is penned

the green is parakeet
a village in a town
if music is the glue
a dipstick dividend

a penguin for your thoughts
a scatter cushion breeze
the whispering is loud
& sounding ’round the bend

a turnip for the books
the prickles on each pear
a crumbled apple pi
a typo on the mendd

a poem in the mud
a fork for all the spoons
the road’s an open page
the moon’s a blooming blend

the nosedive in your eyes
a door before each day
the eastern sun’s a nun
the western wind’s a friend

the greyness in the gold
the chirrup syrups so
a chattering of ink
beginning when things end

…

escaped poet ( ! )

…

– poet on the loose –
they must have picked the lock
on their guilded cage
with a feathered quill
or a plastic pen

– poet on the loose –
rhyming like the sliming
of a garden slug
brown tweed jacket
blue shell suit trousers

– poet on the loose –
rabid like a thirsty bat
as they bard their this & that
rambling their verses
to all within earshot

– poet on the loose –
aged nine to ninety nine
in poet years
scarecrow haircut
eyebrows quite loud

– poet on the loose –
like a miasmic breeze
prosing up the pavements
& so the sirens blare
red alert is here

– poet on the loose –
this is not a drill
a hammer or a spanner
so run indoors & bolt
the backs & the fronts

– poet on the loose –
stay inside until
expert marksmen
have fired their tranquilliser darts
& landed on their arse

…