…
sun hat saturday
ring us in the morning then
when the grey turns gold
…
( author notes )
thanks to anyone that reads these silly, tongue-in-cheek poems. i’ve lost quite a few subscribers recently – but we crack on when we can. off to work now, have a good one
…
i’ve got a vintage
combine harvester
she’s gone rusty now
cobwebs cover her
battered body but
sputter on somehow
shaking like a quaker
out the barn – as we do
oh, i’ve got a vintage
combine harvester
– once she was brand new
…
…
i’m a parish councillor
& the birdie song
is my mobile’s ringtone
i’m a parish councillor
i cycle with no helmet
‘cos i play golf with death
i’m a parish councillor
& all these cardigans
were hand knitted by artisans
i’m a parish councillor
& once i had a scooby-doo
& hair like george michael
since is the prince
& cash in brown envelopes
& cloudy amber ales
as i’m a parish councillor
& one of my young granddaughters
looks like jimmy nail
yes, i’m a parish councillor
just helping out my friends
& giving something back
oh, i’m a parish councillor
& charity is me
& hallowed by my name
…
…
baggy trousers
not the spanners
of the normalz
in their tight jeans
in a cloudburst
out the other
while we stroll in
looser garments
gargle forth with
wonky songbooks
yet red herrings
they pretend we’re
disappearing
in their sadness
& codswallop
twice is better
in the attic
of the nutter
soon is later
than last morning
thurisaz then
see yuz later
so begin once
more with onions
they the weeping
us the green fields
…
…
we became a tree
with skin as hard as bark
& squirrels upstairs
the woodpeckers peck
the winter storms test us all
with bellowing bursts
of blow yer own horn
but we’re the giants’ hatstands
– owls were here last night –
in the woodland’s bowels
in the here of fade away
waiting for that spring
to reboot like feet
even though we now have roots
in am-dram workshops
…
…
brightest of diamonds
on yesteryear’s bridle path
in steaming horse shit
…
…
cauliflower clouds
the downhill path
a mid-september walk
it’s runner bean season
the sun in agreement
…
…
a chicken that quacks
like a mallard up river
& a five pound discount voucher
for those already ripped off
no more limescale
slightly less wars
a christmas in spring
& easter on halloween
a.i jesus archetypes
curing bots ‘n’ what not’s
twenty more genders
& a duck that clucks
is all the big mob
with the big gob wish
so give the hungry crowd
what the famished folk want
…
…
a nswers arrived on postcards
apples fell on you
l etters never sent still came
line dancers went full circle
t he garden centre flourished
toadstools croaked
h illtop views subdued us all
harold burnt the hot cross buns
o pen sandwiches saved the day
offa renamed his p.c ditch
u kelelists struck a chord
unicyclists graduated
g olden pheasants shone
gnomes scratched noses
h ippos fled the mud bath
hellcats went to heaven
…
…
your sunken afternoon
came far too sodding soon
if you’re a neutron star
then i’m a minor moon
your blissful sun kissed beach
has crabs & sinking sand
or so to sausage speak
your blossom zen is bland
i’d rather ride atop
a wooden rocking chair
than wander in the blank
of your phantastic there
where khaos only knells
a distant, milksop bell
but nature flaps ‘n’ kens
that all too feathered well
the haunted laughter in
the restless woods & that
the dawdles of the loons
the spoons, the stupid twats
is freer than the ice
the frozen plod in thy
the formless, yawning storm
behind your prudent eye
as panting pantomime’s
a field, a frog, a horse
another sort of muse
another obtuse force
…
resarf poetry 