flap’s the phantom yonder forest


flap’s the phantom yonder forest  (  b a s t e d  o n  a  t r u e  s t o r y  )

flap's the phantom yonder forest

in the weasel of the night

as the golden pipe for porridge

under blackened beams of light

& the sunken sun is kippers

in the wingdom of the owl

then the elfin shit in knickers

as the headless badgers growl

in the brambles of the thicket

at the shiver of the moon

as a silence strikes the crickets

& a whisper sings a tune

in the silver of the birches

& the mumble of the oaks

as an antlered umbra lurches

& a silva toad - it croaks

at the witches & the wizards

in the fiddle of the fire

with the serpent & the lizards

to the diddle of a lyre

& the pheasant stalks the foxes

then the speckled cockerel yawn

flap's the phantom yonder forest

but it's cracking come the dawn



cheerio & out the other one …


cheerio & out the other one ( 15 lines of all poets are bloody drama queens )

there's cobwebs aplenty - the spiders are weaving

as fox cubs are learning & cob nuts are greening

the nettles are stinging

as church bells are ringing

the woodland is breathing - the wheat fields are gleaming

there's tin cans & pennies - the magpies are thieving

as veiled dales are rolling & steadfastly dreaming

the gardens are brimming

as whirlpools are spinning

the nights are increasing - they're eating our evenings

the hedges bear berries - the orchards are heaving

as autumn is stirring & doubtless not scheming

the geese skeins are singing

as change is beginning

the sun above's beaming but summer is leaving