the 1st of feb

Head contrary

on the 1st of February

as impending Candlemas

hangs thick in the air

just like congealed school custard

sans the upper skin layer

white rabbits - white rabbits

or a pair of mountain hares?

Beyond the edgelands of January

into the rugged vast of where?

Fuck knows - early days again

no wings but whims & a prayer



the moral maze

Cars often

pull over

& ask me

for directions

for example

'Where's Gibblet's Lane?'

& if I know

I'll answer

their question,

to aid them 

on their procession

out of the kindness

of my heart

-It's no strain 

or pain.


if I haven't got

a clue


'Where's Garroter's Avenue?'

I'll just make

something up

all the same.

On the off-chance

that I'm 


as you clever

ever know

it might,

& either way

I'll probably

never see them



the dog’s buccolics

Back in the green

a true pastoral scene,

an external chapel

a wish in Winter's dream


Be it meadow, peak or bracken

wherever chance & stuff may happen,

the splendour shall possess & gently caress

you shall be taken abacken


By the ambrosial leaves & part-time bees

the enchanting beauty, oh so serene,

but when it then gets too much & you've now had enough

just insert sumit like: Fuckin' obscene 


whim change


The whim changed direction

 without a single objection,

nor sole interjection

or mournful string section

& I followed suit

without refute or dispute,

another care-free pursuit

we might be en route

If not, it’s still a detour

there might be swings & slides plus see saw,

which easily shits on free fall

but will we remember what we saw


The whim changed because it could

as I suspected whim possibly would,

& no one tried to stop or trap it

maybe on a whim though

-they probably should