…
the milkman’s mishaps
the matron’s ozempic face
the minstrel’s bad breath
the miller’s trapped wind
or the mayor’s hairy elbows
…
Photo
if the earth is flat
…
if the earth is flat
then eddie izzard is a woman
& hamas
are holding sausages
as hostages
…
questioning, questioning
…
can the candlemaker
blow the candles
on his birthday cake?
does the grocer’s daughter
know her onions
like her father?
how far does the farmer
plough the field
before the seagulls
then descend
& feast upon
the worms that squirm in furrows?
will the wicked winter wind
frisk us all
fruzzen?
has the haberdasher
dashed
down to the harbour yet?
do the bible bashers
worship badgers
on the sly?
when will the spring
sing a hymn
like a poem thing?
…
uncertainty & biscuits
…
custard creams? maybe
a fig roll or pink wafer?
perchance a chocolate hobnob?
an orio? we just don’t know
or broken bits of biscoff?
digestives still might
save the day?
a shortcake fit
for a jacobite prince?
a penguin we can
p-p-p pick up?
or bourbon – possibly?
( ? )
open the tin & see
…
a poem in the laundry
…
scrumpled up & stuffed
in the side left pocket
of your lucky tracky b’s
between odd socks
handkerchiefs, neck frills
perchance a tea towel
soon the cycle’s set
rescue before drowning
…
septemberal
…
s emaphore & seraphin
then let’s begin
e ctoplasm
from the nostrils of your nose
p op tarts & pardons
welkins water gardens
t artan rugs, temporal
feeling quite septemberal
e gg timers tick
tocks getting quick
m altesers, mole hills
another beanstalk spills
b iplanes stutter
better run for cover
e arly trains, catch up
ketchup, the night bus
r ubber gloves, chickens
you & who the dickens
a xe handles jazz
i’m your magic spaz
l uggage on a trolley
best bring a brolly
…
a poem on the compost
…
somewhere there where
the orange peel ends up
& rests in pea pods
as parsnip tops rot on
at the bottom of the garden
…
further & more
…
beyond the swan
& in between
the closing sings
an opening
the seasons tease
the breezes crow
the flow is though
a river’s bend
a kingfisher
a fissure here
apocryphal
is possible
the near is far
a wooden spoon
a garden gate
& middle eight
a flighty sky
my feathered friend
the end is just
the cusp of soon
but when is then
& rubber gloves
or turtle doves
the morning squawks
…
august augustus
…
august augustus
a fat black adder
basking on a rock
august augustus
a den in the woods
& a sprained left ankle
august augustus
lemon barley waterfalls
& gourds from other worlds
august augustus
darker then each morrowtide
verilly like bellends
august augustus
the face of tomorrow
upon your toasted pikelet
august augustus
don’t jump the queue
or they’ll have you too
august augustus
frothy washed cars
& a magic carpet burn
…
pop can man
…
yes, my carbonated mate
is best served from the fridge
slurp him high on chemicals
he’s coloured artificial
been bubbly since bright youth
& still slightly uncouth
he’s mister fizzle out
( he’ll be flat in half an hour )
…
resarf poetry 