frost property


frost property  (  ytreporp storf  )

a yawn of fog & out the yard

the daze is dark, the moon is starred

as mountaineers

we face the blear

the puddles - rocks, the river's hard

the grass is stone - a crunch is heard

a groan of bone but not a bird

is hymning in

this misted dim

us idiots are undeterred

we slug a trudge - the dog & me

as winters limbs are doddery

when penguins prance

& mammoths dance

a rummage in frost property

as poets squawk of summer's gold

as circles churn - this song is old

a frozen roam

& then back home

the kettle calls - it's fuckin' cold



world whirr 5


world whirr 5  ( a  p o e t r y  )

cloud-shroud balladeer

brontosaurus broccoli

cowpat caravan

goldfinch weather map

sugar snap pea shepherdess

stoat throat-singalong

goshawk gathering

mother earth & morris men

bus pass brussel sprouts

ten squid tentacles

anchors of a wanker war

quarter past wednesday



dribbing drabs


dribbing drabs  (  m y  r h m e s  a r e  w e i r d e r  t h a n  y o u r s  )

bee the beat of dripping taps

scissor kicks & snipping snaps

summer daze & sputtered sups

ducking stools & paving cracks

rue the spew of splitting slacks

river mist & missing maps

finger food & buttercups

whirling pools & swirling traps

phase the hay of tipping stacks

laser rays & slipping grasps

serpent tongues & monster trucks

thundered crumbs & otter scraps

fight the bite of nipping gnats

iron gloves & whipping slaps

sinking stands & plunder struck

tiger stripes & lion naps

span the sand of swinging sacks

pigeon piss & shitting gasps

candle quacks & rubber flux

what-the-ducks & spitting wax

tread the stead of tripping tracks

feathered blends & flipping flaps

scrambled legs & dangled up

phantom pens & dribbing drabs





autumble  (  a  p o e m  f o r  . . .  )

the fields have fledged - their crops have flown

& hog's the hedge as feet they roam

the barns are calm & lofts are hay

as trees they swirl & fade to crone

the hills seem green - the mares are roan

& hares they snore as spores are sewn

the dogs are frogs - the cats are strays

as clouds they shroud & mouths they foam

the ponds are splosh if rocks are thrown

& bird's the blur as earth's the tone

the doves are rooks or so folk say

as wraiths they stir & ghosts they groan

the land is sleep - the stones are bones

& nights they creep to fight the gloam

the plod is fog in socks of grey

as songs are sung & winds are blown



a hole in last thursday

there was a hole in last thursday

so bits of it leaked

into last friday

beyond last week

then into the future

yes the spillage did run

leaving traces in places

for decades to come