~
penguin ( niugnep )
…
suited & booted
waddle chocolate biscuit bird
fish for your supper
…
~
penguin ( niugnep )
…
suited & booted
waddle chocolate biscuit bird
fish for your supper
…
~
definitions of a poems ( smeop a fo snoitinifed )
…
the journal squirms of dead old men
& spinsters with cobwebs for knickers
the gruel of school, designed to bore
the speak of sleep – & so we snored
with purple spurts & shapes of beige
an open toad upon a page
that no one reads, a dull-de-sac
a sack of shit, a bag of cack
or magic beans for cabbage folk
a cattle prod, an egg, a yoke
a floating ghost or cheese on toast
the tapered tones of nature’s notes
a sort of door, a funky key
the apes & scrapes of monkey me
a letter stuck with music’s glue
( parcelled to parts unknown )
the gaps between the cracks in clouds
a scribble in – & out the other
a shooting star of trar-luh-lar
the lucid dreams of prose in a coma
the twisted lists of brevity’s rants
the ants in pantomime’s pants
the life & times of baa, baa, baa
rhyming, if inclined
& shining like a shining thing
…
~
herring spotting ( gnittops gnirreh )
…
smoked if whacked with lead
red if down a cul-de-sac
boned if in the clouds
…
~
as the ‘rona drones ( senord anor’ eht sa )
…
~
over clover’s leas
plods a yokel cabbage
~
songs within his deep green
anorak pockets
~
under onion skies
pickled like the piffle
~
of the brainstream snooze
& the beige of the age
~
birdsong glistens still
in the pantaloons of winter
~
welkins bloom to blue
lilac alder catkins
~
kingfisher swishes
by the blanks of the gibber
~
colours sound around
shite night musing’s
~
cows beyond the town
cattle beyond cattle
~
sheep upon these hills
watch the village witter
~
as the ‘rona drones
so the muzzled skip
~
dancing with the ants
in this phantom pantomime
…
~
king of the conkers ( sreknoc eht fo gnik )
…
~
king of the conkers
smothered in gorilla glue
asphalt & diamonds
~
chief of the nag’s chest
hanging with the wrecking balls
checkmate & curtains
~
autumn’s destroyer
on the roids & hench as fook
coz you’re fookin’ ‘ard
~
god of the schoolyard
ruler of this universe
you too shall shatter
~
time is like paris
arrows in his pipeline – so
swing & ‘ave a go
~
i’m a light bringer
i’m the ever-blazing sun
with nuts set to stun
…
~
things to give the widest of berths ( shtreb fo tsediw eht evig ot sgniht )
…
soap opera weddings
– weddings in general
cornichons & gherkins
letters from the council
torrential cloudbursts
the cult of celebrity
broken bones
anything by coldplay
the b.b.c
the song of the sirens
manna from the skies
the brainstream media
the mask-brigade on twatter
lovebombing bots
never ending surveys
the great reset
anthrax, the black death
allen ginsberg fan’s
– lock up your young sons
cracks on the pavement
unlucky heather
heroin & benylin
my doppelgänger
& matt hancock’s prick
…
~
soft rock ballad ( dallab kcor tfos )
…
in the bits beyond the leas
so the mincing minstrels moan
spins a tale of wailing hymns
& a land of sanded stone
of the shale within the fro
oh, the shifting skins of turf
& a rumble underneath
from the stomach of the earth
as the cabbage salad splats
as the lunar minded squawk
& a spider frees the flies
chimes a chaffinch, talkin’ chalk
in the innards of upon
as a loaf of hillocks roll
once a forest – since a ghost
& the afterlife is coal
under crumble-jumbled skies
in a broken wonky key
aye, the strumming poets ponce
& the song’s ge-ol-o-gy
in the bits beyond the leas
so the mincing minstrels moan
spins a tale of wailing hymns
& a land of sanded stone
…
~
i spider ( redips i )
…
scrambled, tangled webs
scree beneath the letterheads
– handwritten inklings
…
~
g-seventeen-v ( v-neetneves-g )
…
7-p-m-n
turnips
ten-q2
cagoules
g-seventeen-v
spanners
~
d-three, three, three
– epiphany
( ? )
…
( author notes )
& all the other months
that aren’t november
are probably just november
in disguise
…
~
thoughts on hedgehogs ( sgohegdeh no sthguoth )
…
they wage no scraps or wars
like mutant human-pigs
or weasel-woodland boars
with sworded tusks that kill
they eat no chips or swill
or hog the crusts ‘n’ grubs
they feed on sleepless slugs
on nibbles, bits ‘n’ bugs
they snore all yawning morn
& cattled afternoon
to shine a light & rise
just like the blooming moon
then wander on upon
the leas & garden lawns
or cross a misted road
if testing mister death
they cannot roar a bark
or howl at passing owls
or change the shifting shapes
of spinning space & time
they cannot fucking fly
within the air nor sky
their spikes are quills – ’tis true
but they do
live in hedges
…