Poem

lines upon retracing your steps

…

annoyingly oblique
like the two-a-penny prose
in poetry review

& other such squirms
the winter wind won’t sing
her lips are sealed frozen

the calendar cannot
recite in rhyming cantons
the cobwebs of tomorrow

i long to gaze & gawp
like a curtain twitching darren
at the form of each future

the line work & notation
the back, the sack & crack
to choose a brighter upgrade

& not more bland ahoy
as the wank in your angst
is the ants in your pants

yet the kitchen sink
the custard creams, the third crusade
the golden age of steam

the councils & the demes
the cotton clouds – if sung aloud
& we’re all backwards now

…

hermitage shanks

…

bardic is a barn
rusty in places
shelter for the sheep

mangles on their breath
wurzels & turnips
rustic bumpkin songs

rise before the sun
glorious each morning
gladder than priapus

trudge a lonely so
jill up a molehill
jack in the greenhouse

yawn a gold before
far from the town where
steve became eve

where the blue haired croon
of albion’s erasure
with a tea towel scarf

fly like a white dove
from the warring words
of their melting pot mouths

bee another breeze
in the dilly of the valley
& the dally of time

…

concussion song

…

a few too many

bumps to the head

      a few too many

      a few too many

a few too many

bumps to the head

      a few too many

      a few too many

a few too many

bumps to the head

      a few too many

      a few too many

yes, a few too many

bumps to the head

      & a few more

      for good measure

…

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?

…

furthermore it’s autumn

…

we became the pages
like the photographs
of the calendar’s turn
over & collapse

catch another breath then
whack the kettle on
formerly’s a rain cloud
once is now upon

i, the ‘nana milksop
shaken like a leaf
tumbles in the breezes
time is but a thief

you, the feathered future
darker than the crack
of a massive arse’ole
so shadows attack

furthermore it’s autumn
winter’s on its way
walk into the evening
as the mantis pray

’til the badgers samba
as the toadstools spore
roaming in the gloaming
knocking on death’s door

…