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bursting ( gnitsrub )
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noses on a breeze floating over pastures green sniff a rose & sneeze bubbles in the works spanners, sand & sandwiches languages as burps rubber ducks & hens squirms within a can of worms whip the inkling's pens apple bites & pips fingers, flaps & butterflies kitchen sinks & ships rivers on the run roaming in the gloaming's ghost chase the fading sun owls & howling moons ladders, clouds & passage ways bladders & balloons ...
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the first of frost ( tsorf fo tsrif eht )
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a dove above, a sprite of white a skein of geese, a host of crows the winter creeps as summer sleeps with speckled steps & twinkle toes a crunch below - the frozen grass is numbered up & bags of crisps the soft is off, the mud is stone a circle sings, a conker falls a sort of door, the hinges creak a blast of brass & monkey balls the air's a ghost - so wear a coat a pair of gloves with fingers crossed & wander on - beyond the swan a murmur in the first of frost ...
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p o e t r y ( 17 line read )
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cheapskate poundland paper - bland & blank as snow kisses shit & tight ink - black as murdered crows elsewhere swans sing backwards - spits of feathered songs as dream streams creep upstream - upwards then we row time to meet thy maker - itch & twiddle toes slice & dice an onion - briskly knead that dough bang a foolish gold gong - prance & act that one wake the ghosts for breakfast when those garden grow bastard scraps & capers - scarpered as me flow stick to myths & hearsay - not what folk may know salmon leap for wisdom - avalon & on quibbles pose as scribbles - squits of so & so fruits of vaguely labour - flighty quill winds blow barley mows & cobwebs - watch them as they glow write some wrongs etc. where they should belong as the rain pours buckets fuck it, here we go ...
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muse news musings ( a poem that isn’t about muesli )
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your muse is news - the paper cries as tea mugs steam & low cloud stirs perhaps the sun will shine my shoes when light beams through in sudden bursts i think out loud as pigeons sigh & bookworms feast on dog-eared words oh muddled daze of much ado your gift was but a muddled curse this much is true yet wild boar glide as hen fangs rip & dead cats purr perhaps the moon will mow my lawn when lowly ink still finds the verse to buzzard on as swallows dive & robins bob - observe the birds my muse is news - no tears weep i thanks fuck & phew - things have been worse ...
