…

the morning wore a fez
& everyone ate flapjack

perhaps the stars agree
& so the starlings crow

the robins didn’t peck
the archbishop’s fat balls

beginning when its spinning
upon this cosmic egg

a ripple in your journal
& colonel mustard’s gas

the gaps between each simile
a sea of silver darlings

a varnished table leg
a cappuccino sheen

the ghost of old november
her bugles & bassoons

remember this & glisten
the river in your ear

a disappearing here
the horn on each gazelle

electric jellied eels
she’ll never text you back

the evening burped too soon
a dirge in perfect purple

…

…

i long to snow globe
& play with your maracas
ready coffee beans
& dry like a dog
up from the river

mister richter’s calling
rising like a vibraphone
e to f to g
going for a h
redefining music

soon we’ll tambourine
or wobble like a trifle
the custard & the jelly
or the moobs & belly
of jack horner senior

we, the leafen folk
will strawberry milk it
us two lamb tails
’til the die is cast
then the past laughs last

we’ll become the ground
a shaky love sound
unversed heathens
surfing the waveforms
’til the echoes go

…

…

a squirrel on the scribble’s scrub
a kipper in your smoking kiss
the bubble wrap is bursting back
it’s bobble hats & bastard that
the western wind’s a sod

the morning was a yawning monk
& skeletal’s the turning key
the cuckoo’s cloud is falling down
as jacobite’s the battered night
& haddock be thy cod

the carlists carp a ducking pond
the mutant tudors hula-hoop
the robin is a crested tit
a distant dwarfish starling shines
& time’s a fishing rod

a shiver under silver birch
a leafless cloak of english oak
a sort of snoring garden gnome
the sunken sun is trudging home
the pace is but a plod

a once upon a twisted twice
the wrinkles on your crinkled arse
the drool between each dribble’s feed
the spittle’s spool’s a bucking mule
november is a nod

beyond the swan’s a wanker’s song
if mistily is missing we
a badger pissing up a tree
& so the fucking poets crow
the road ahead is odd

…

~

cracking up, the scrambled eggs
when the cockerel is a crow
so an end begins again
& the absent breezes blow

sneeze the day & face a head
leaden legged – a pencil ran
doodle in a book of notes
oodles of the mentals man

toodles to the normals spawn
let the jibber-jabbers spew
not is this a shopping list
or the groans of yawning dew

balls in all – a scratching plan
hatching on a sheet of white
whittle like an afternoon
kiss the moon & cue the night

…

…

in the greyness of a day
chasing trails of spittle’s spit
when the distant horses neigh
watch y’ step for goblin shit

as the brambles tangle knots
in this season’s odd unrest
fingers crossed & dot the dots
silent now the hornet’s nest

stirless stands & faces thee
in the woodland’s whisperings
on a leafless chestnut tree
as a chough above us sings

in the fields – the deed is ploughed
yet an ice cream van is heard
bursting through the wandered cloud
so the calendar is blurred

are these chimes within the mind?
is greensleeves still ringing here
will the garden hose unwind?
will these long nights disappear?

darting swifts between each blink
music moves beyond the swan
fuck the glugging kitchen sink
betty swollocks beckons on

squint & see within the vast
glimpses of a picnic’s gist
phantoms of the recent past
summer’s haunting autumn’s mist

…