Poem

this isn’t

…

a letter from
the attic of
your long, lost uncle

a song about
your country cousin’s
chicken casserole

another of those
alt-accounts
( beware the many bots )

the reason why
it’s blue above
& no, not grey today

a diatribe
uncontacted
& ranting in the wilds

dear reader of
each clattering
this isn’t haiku or

an ode to
a pygmy shrew
nor a carrion crow

oh,

even though
it may seem so
sometimes the cuckoo lies

…

( yet more author notes )

…

scribbled in the midlands
by a scroat in odd socks

lit by tealight
up before the farmers

read by smoky fishwives
praetorian gardeners

rabid traffic wardens
& seasick oceanographers

at least it’s not the sobbings
of your godmother’s sonnets

or the catatonic purrs
of your long lost uncle’s prose

may contain monkey
nuts & the other

best before last century
peaked in antiquity

i blame the belgians
the gypos & the methodists

sod this for a stare-off
with a freshly painted wall

( huff )

…