…
last seen on the moors
in a puddle of himself
watch your step walking
…
…
last seen on the moors
in a puddle of himself
watch your step walking
…
…
kosh o’ clock
quarter past curtains
ten to let’s be ‘avin’ you
every ruddy mayday
s.o.s p.m
…
…
last seen lost & wandering
without a cagoule
on a saint swithun’s eve
as the western then blew
grey clouds in some more
…
…
& your advert goes here
plastered like a gash
postered like lost cats
stuck up like a bank job
( look forward to ignoring you )
…
…
unwritten yesterday’s
rediscovered poem
spidery strokes
stokes no coalite since
unremembered gist
knicker twisted mist
must & dust settled
any disagreements
gardens overgrew
no rosetta stoner
could decode those scrawlings
those mute changelings
we became the same
flame until the candle
had the last laugh
belfries chiming off
but still the bellend sings
kiss my arcadia
…
…
~
yesterthen’s scribbles
went elsewhere
like your uncle after
~
the operation went wrong
since is not a song
or even in key
~
croaks the morning pheasant
& big bo peep
– little’s older sister
~
retracing steps
the sort that fingers make
is fruitless indeed
~
like a greengrocer
that only sells veg
so even no tomatoes
~
oh, where art thou?
huffs the pen – like a cow
herd in an unhaunted farmhouse
~
darker than before
it’s not in your notepads
or stuffed in your desk drawers
~
sputum & dust then
another lost poem
missing – presumed immortal
…
…
the pebble in your left
orthopaedic shoe
& rain last tuesday
a certain afterglow
in the sunset’s curtains
when we both squint
plus the cataracts
in the glass eyes
of the blind mortician
or the sparrows nesting
in the west wing
of the matron’s beard
the gnomes in the garden
that wink when we blink
perfectly in sync
like the lipstick smeared
on the vestigal nipple
of the bishop’s catamite
are all redder
than a blushing herring
square one beckons us back
…
…
the butler never did it
they railroaded him too
those sneaky widwits
the typewriter botherers
as whodunnit authors
are yet more rotten apples
& just as bent as coppers
or those limbo dancing hunchbacks
who loiter in the gents
toilet in the park
every friday luchtime
…
…
all of mange tout
is the flesh of my lord
he is the green
in a foggy winter soup
the chick in y’ chana
& the holy frozen garden
resurrected ghost
when reheated
behold the king of fritters
praise sweet flower thou
the rehydrated christ
in y’ pot noodle
is my mushy messiah
the universal pulse
religion of peas
yes, god in every pod
…
…
unscattered ashes
catch the last drift home
bones unbroken
all’s unaching
nor a restless tingle
when breakfast calls
take another gulp
swallow like a summer
while the tealights dance
dunce in the mist
nouns becoming verbs
shine like the plough
pow & kerblam
power nap slang man
index left
cleft fist this
voles, vowels & barn owls
scanning your barcode
say cheese & sneeze
odin sesame
dawn chorus horus
…