Photo

the darling buds of maybe

…

yes, perchance the ants will dance

in a bumpkin’s barn

probably the breeze will sneeze

beavers dam & darn

badgers might invade peru

if the sapling twigs

beanstalks scratch magonia

penguins fly with pigs

fatter lambs on pastures graze

scotch egg hatchlings preen

poets unwrite purple prose

traffic lights stay green

certain stirs more than the rest

yet that west wind blows

southern norths & east again

up the parson’s nose

at a toss the sea could wave

at the midlands far

rubber chickens cross the road

as we umm an aah

balladeers with big ears could

bore us all again

woods in oakest albion

shelter us from rain

it’s likely – like v.d that

june is next as well

possibly the wasps will bee

if the bluebells knell

( ? )

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community comments page

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i stand with the snakes
the slugs & the snails

i blame the blameless
& the teachers of the parents

i was so offended
when the bots were not offended

i vote for so & so
& i despise the othered them

i think they should bring back
dodos & echoes

i agree – mixed aggregates
are a sort of lottery

i heart emojis
& shag the current thing flag

my condolences
to the latest dead z-lister

…

may, may

…

may, may

a day & a pole

yes, perhaps a horsy foal

prancing on the pastures

like a young queen camilla

or anne hathaway

– that-a-way beckons

may, may

the aquilegia soar

all is an almond

if reason is the rhyme

then it’s time for swingball

pan faked it all

like an ancient john darwin

may, may

the dead were never dead

said the makeshift scarecrow

to the crickets in the thicket

& the cuckoos in your mind

as a snark sings hymns

in the throbbing hedgerow

may, may

where the gnomes sunbathe

as the milking maids

gargle pink lemonade

barefoot on the garden lawn

dawn is a yellow

wagtail’s egg

may, may

trainers or walking shoes

hoodie not jacket

scibbles in a notepad

gladder than sir galahad

glowing goes my muse

deep green be thy elbows

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fridge magnet man

…

singing us back
mister bump & tickle
tony the tiger
exmoor ponies
next turn for coleslaw

walking pole to pole
freon in his veins
radio derby ram
darth vader’s head
gathering detritus

fridge magnet man
semi-skimmed insides
cool like the blind
with their shades indoors
white plastic skin

him of ants in pantries
humming like a sleeping bee
give him souvenirs
your trinkets & your life
– it’s another stick-up

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outrage outro

…

inserting turnips

where the sun don’t stroke

sack the t.v chef

    guillotine the d.j

    chastise the m.p

    rage at the bots

the what’s & the not’s

the lollipop lady

that eats her own roadkill

    twisting frilly knickers

    y-fronts & what the fuck’s

    gasping pantomimes

the a.i e-thot

that ran out of code

so the cloud devoured her

    read all around it

    the pilchard poet

    that wore odd socks again

dot them dots then

droning like a chainsaw

whispering foghorns

    huffing all morning

    twatting all the mirrors

   steaming ’til evening

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all clued out

…

the pebble in your left
orthopaedic shoe
& rain last tuesday

a certain afterglow
in the sunset’s curtains
when we both squint

plus the cataracts
in the glass eyes
of the blind mortician

or the sparrows nesting
in the west wing
of the matron’s beard

the gnomes in the garden
that wink when we blink
perfectly in sync

like the lipstick smeared
on the vestigal nipple
of the bishop’s catamite

are all redder
than a blushing herring
square one beckons us back

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