if you were a bus

if you were a bus

i’d sit on your back seat

& rest my weary arse cheeks

but i’d rather you sat on me

i’d gaze out of your window

in between crossword clues

& see the town vanish

the grey becoming green

it’s leafier each blink

as blue rinsed biddies natter

on what to have for tea

& who should win strictly

i’d ride within your frame

& test your braking speed

the tyres & suspension

like a proper fuckin’ wrong’un

who should be on a register

& tagged for good measure

we would sweat in august

but warm a dark december

on the long road home

in the evening’s golden gloam

& then i’d ring your bell

when our stop approaches

he of brighter bicycles


he of brighter bicycles ( selcycib rethgirb fo eh )

i’m a breathing pantomime

sings the scribbled ink

      with some super glue

      stick a pube or two

he of brighter bicycles

an easter egregore

      all is throbbing thickets

      & toads upon toadstools

rabbits not rubble

the catch is in the double

     trembles of treble

      as hares box the air

hespero & i

wandered of a morning

      on the road of romans

      quarrymen & drovers

time is like a light

in the dim of thought

      nought is but an egg

      scrambling the smeg

weaver of before

in the mirror – rayed

      ‘fore the dawn’s middle eight

       & chorus to fade

( this little dedication )


( this little dedication ) a short made-up list by some twat on the internet

this little dedication

is dedicated to

susan, igor

jan & stu

peter, michael

rachel & finn


& gwendolyn

margot, hugo

eve 'n' steve

jenkins' ear

& leprosy



barbara, offa

dave & otters

limestone edges

lecking grouse

plus saladin

the mute church mouse

april, august

then jodrell bank

gleaming great things

& wank



mater nature provides


mater nature provides by crispin dawdles ( 13 read line )

we're foraging for our next meal

out in them wilds

we're frisking fields

for juicy moss or budding shoots

the less known sorts

of nature's fruits

we're foraging - berries 'n' nuts

'edged 'erbs - fungi

aye all that stuff

( why )

twenty quid we found last easter

sat on a stile

- free takeaway pizza -


there shats a plover


( hangover poem ) by 18 lines of ‘ing read

in the beginning

there was sober

now bells knell

dogs piss on clover

damn you shandy

your hangover

above my

( head )

there shats a plover

a quiet drink

became bender

gay hunchbacks?

i don't remember

phuket - thought i then

it's december

i now sweat

( like )

a sex offender


( not murder )


( not murder ) by 4 times 2 read line of 

a pint of mild - a good night's sleep

shat no pants at these words i speak

no fret not as said saying goes

oh i could murder one of those

or kill for as it's just a phrase

besides the moon's in its wrong phase

to stir an urge not that i could

more tea curate? touch wood

touch wood