…
cauliflower clouds
the downhill path
a mid-september walk
it’s runner bean season
the sun in agreement
…
…
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
…
…
i identify
as a magpie
i identify
as a cheese & pickle sandwich
i identify
as the battle of trafalgar
i identify
as a can of rice pudding
i identify
as a muggy sunday evening
i identify
as an iron age hillfort
i identify
as a monkey puzzle tree
i identify
yes – me, me, me
…
…
on the other side
of the hill that
r o l l s
like a granary bap
or a wholemeal
b l o o m e r
is another valley’s green
a new dream
t i c k e t
the odd smallholding
gritstone
b r i c k e d
but mostly more fields
& the drystone
w a l l s
the scattered woodland copses
where pheasants strut their
s t u f f
as the ewes baa back
at the oak tree’s
b a r k
& starlit badgers wonder what
life is like for us
b u m p k i n s
…
…
backwards barks again
a backdoor key
cartoon rudiments
cloven hoofed clover
a zoomorphic moon
with rain in between
an ache in my right leg
a lake in your left eye
the day became frogs
human cattle banging pots
remember the moos
& the chalkboards thank yous
& irk the normalz off
of a formless morning
on is reverse
we the scattered ash
& quercus quilled ink
still the unbecome
melted into fundaments
rearranged yesterday
grew a green tomorrow
ate baked magic
beans on toast for tea
with grated cheese on top
…
…
only when you stop
do you spot the fog & see that
this mist is only
the holy hedgerow ghosts
on the footpath home
…
…
i’m strangely drawn in
like a cartoon you – but some
may say – that’s art, maaan
…
…
sat ‘ere unlike
a satyr – stroke –
some woodland god
one from the wilds
beyond us scrotes
…