feathers ( srehtaef )

a friend from the welkin

the cousin of pens

the death of a pheasant

a gift from a gull

a bit of a robin

the heart of a pillow

a wind from the south

the spit in the mouth

a swallow, a swift

the tail of a quail

is dusting again

a flap in the attic

a hawk from the north

the kingfisher’s clothes

a cockerel, a crow

the dark on the snow

a snark of a lark

& villagers sticking

the truck in themselves

with plucks of a chicken

the pigeon’s a goat

the mallard is sitting

& off is a swan

– over tarred skin

ice came, ice thaw, ice conquered


ice came, ice thaw, ice conquered  (  dereuqnoc eci, waht eci, emac eci  )

the earth's an urn, a trudge of fudge

a phantom land upon the close

a sliding scale, a trail of sludge

a poet stirs, the serpents doze

a circle sings & stone is air

the crocus croak but not a frog

& night has flown but white's the hare

that's boxing in this belching bog

of squelching ground - the sound of swan

within the mists of in between

a sodden hymn, the gift of gone

a dance before this gland of green

is fever struck & strings are plucked

the woodland drips & all is thaw

as spring's unplugged but winter's fucked

the rest is wet, the rivers roar



gooses step in boots


gooses step in boots  (  stoob ni pets sesoog  )

thunder rumbles drums

phantoms grey & fade

in amongst the dales

snails are on parade

slugs are trudging mud

silver trails of slime

yonder is a swan

cygnets ring & chime

pigs are flying by

finches flapping wings

pippets puff a pipe

ducks are plucking strings

weasels reel a jig

as the cockerels crow

coots are sporting wigs

horses snorting so

badgers slap a bass

adders snake a fist

murmurings of bees

buzzing in the mist

voles are in the head

buzzards strum the sun

eggs are springing legs

rivers on the run

snarks are on guitar

newts are tooting flutes

february is shoots

gooses step in boots

down into the town

underneath an arch

beats on cobbles streets

marching on til march


slot another sixpence in the blackbird meter


slot another sixpence in the blackbird meter  ( my other poem is gayer than tuesday )

slot another sixpence

in the blackbird meter

spot my home moon

with my new human eyes

pen a rotten sonnet

on the back of a food stamp

brush a side parting

on the palm of my hands

sail the lemon seas

in a lime green dinghy thing

ski with the yetis

in a faux-snow dome

win the tour de france

on the back - of a unicorn

butterfly with narwhals

( sans armbands )


spittle ink in woodland


spittle ink in woodland  ( written in a wood because desks are zoos for people )

spittle ink in woodland

underneath the trees

as the leaves are dripping

bumble with the bees

squiggle then in nettles

flap with phantom hands

pandas dance the cancan

rubber dub & bands

wriggle worms that eat birds

peaches that are stoned

grapes that cape the headland

goat as sheep are cloned

squabble-squab the bog rot

moss upon the logs

jostle in the hare's lair

boxing with the frogs