( ? )

fall into summer

~

fall into summer  (  a  p o e m  )

…




trip on a cowslip & fall into summer

fumble a stumble, part-cartwheel then under


follow proceedings like willow on leather

float like a ghost or a deft thieving feather


glide for a moment - pretend it's a lifetime

as the bellflower clangs so the wild thyme chimes


swift as that swallow or sting from a nettle

cross every digit then settle on petals

...

actually

~

actually  (  a  p o e t i c a l  )

…





none of these hills

are actually hills

they're huge goosebumps

the wind it chills

this fearful land

this restless still

none of these hills

are actually hills


none of these lakes

are actually lakes

they're big puddles

make no mistake

these things soon build

for fishes sake

none of these lakes

are actually lakes


none of these trees

are actually trees

they're drama students

can't you see?

this wooden cast

of wannabes

none of these trees

are actually trees


( & )

none of this verse

is actually verse

'tis gobshite fare

a gift-stroke-curse

& yet it rhymes

oh aye, terse nurse

none of this verse

is actually verse


( phew )

...

undone shoelaces

~

undone shoelaces  (  a  p o e t r y  )

…




undone shoelaces

strolling down the road

maybe i'll trip

& break my neck


undone shoelaces

strolling down the road

maybe i'll live

so what the heck


undone shoelaces

 strolling down the road

kicking odd stones

into the hedge


clutching a rabbit's foot

tightly as i go

to yonder shop

( life on the edge )

...

( erm )

~

( erm )  (  s o m e  w o r d p l a y  )

…


there's trusted in thrusted

& rusted in trusted

with little adjusted

one letter's deducted

in haunted there's hunted

yet just ice is justice

& bus ted is busted

i'm fucked

done & dusted

...

 

 

fan mail for the mayor

~

fan mail for the mayor  (  a  p o e m  )

…




we scratch our itches, rub our sores

we stretch our stretches, yawn our yawns

we comb our chest hair - almost roar

then pay the gnomes to

mow the lawn


we write our fan mail for the mayor

we pause mid-thought on wobbly chairs

we inspect smudges over there

then think of nan's hips

whispered prayers


we plod through valleys in the rain

we whistle folk songs with no name

we catch our busses, miss our trains

then grief turn bleak - oh

who to blame ( ? )


we talk to no one in our homes

about the war then so-&-sos

we talk for days - they don't half drone

'tis tiring fair - time flies

time goes

...