twelve daze of yulemas


twelve daze of yulemas ( sameluy fo ezad evlewt )

twelve elves in shell suits

bobbing in the woodland

eleven ewes are loose

– there’s a goose with a gun

ten winter wrens

if the pickled pen says so

nine pints of water

from the spring before the river

eight middle eights

in a shitty christmas songbook

seven pheasant feathers

in the field behind the graveyard

six zip cardigans

knitted by the pixie folk

five chocolate coins

in lieu of legal tender

four androids

for every human here

three ducks waddle

on the bridge beside the weir

two sharp pebbles

from the innards of my shoe

& a parnsip in a parp

from the bandstand in my bottom

the mud beneath


the mud beneath ( htaeneb dum eht )

the mud beneath’s a sodden bog
a cloak of oak, a croaking log

the mizzled mist is missing sheep
a dragon snores & all is sleep

the deep is up, the south is north
the east is west, the back is forth

a feather falls – but falls from where?
your mother’s face, a leveret hare

the twisting shapes, a dip, a dive
a spooling ghoul, the air’s alive

the scattered land is sleeping cloud
the taj mahal, the turin shroud

a circle spins a string of yarn
a distant screech, a secret barn

& all is balls, a yawning day
the pastures pant, the grass is grey

a sunken see, the squinting sands
the seasons jazz with phantom hands

the mud beneath’s a sodden bog
a plod within the morning’s fog

the things we hear


the things we hear ( raeh ew sgniht eht )

bamboo shoots

up like rhubarb

lost flock baa’s

garden gnomes & statues

singing filthy hymns

static on the radio

laughter in the loft

fates down the bingo

playing for a full house

fishwives wittering

pssst, kung pao

plughole gurgles

faces in the clouds

sneezing on the ground

lapwings or peewits

kettles whistle winds

telephones knelling

like a funerary bellend

fried egg crackle’s

like cladding on a new build

come mid-june

when the scarecrows are swearing

trudging on snow

so the planets realign

twats banging pots

wasps indoors

sunny days in dark socks

– fuckin’ alarm clocks

wanker ants


wanker ants ( stna reknaw )

workers, drones & queens

as above & so below

cities underground

people become thee

looking down from moors & tors

hurry, little men

builders of the hills

flying high in summer skies

snacks for passing birds

destroyers of dams

toilers of the forest floor

soldiers on six legs

dead but yet – alive

barmy army carpenters

dancing in my pants

see the insects prance

sugar whores within me drawers

it’s the wanker ants