They shun the Moon its Magic beams then sleep in overlapping dreams of a world without Wolves safe from harm or scare then they wake up like a lightning bolt & check their palms for hair ...
Poem
puddle power
Yes Puddles are alive in a variety of shapey-sizes from 1 droplet of Puddle-Stuff to 2 thirds of the Earth. The bits that stagger Puddles are classed as 'Streams' 'Big Streams' or 'Land' strange heathen places despised by Ye Gods so everyday these Puddles EXPAND ...
grow your own toenails
Grow your own toenails breathe your own air scratch your own itchy arse moan at that there. Perform your own pantomime eat your own toast whilst life-permitting then be your own ghost ...
feed the child
Mum can we have chips for tea with ambrosia fish fingers - mushy peas then lemon meringue pies plus manna from the skies & get a fuckin' move on I'm hungry please? ...
the gist of things
Twas a stormless night when the incident with the euphonium low cloud yet quitish bright triggered pandemonium. The chickens they ran amok as the church bells sang of the end of the of days the vicar was touched by a form of shock like headless poultry - mad cluckers all crazed. & then it almost rained frogs as the cries of terror-shit topped deafening plus miaows from confused dogs almost but definitely threatening. & so without further ado-ACHOO in the absence of thunder claps or any last requests bless you - yes I have the sniffles too hereby thence sentence you to death ...
blame the parenthesis
As the funeral for an onion who died tragically young sad-timely hymns sung. Then lacrimal laments bulbous allium torments wailing not whaling sad shit - intense. Or since applying more cream in the hope it may redeem but that definitely exceeds residual seeping - there shall be weeping ...
the haunted city
6 miles to the south of here the haunted city lies; Celtic, Roman, Saxon, Norse - the Normans of course yes, built by times. & I like to pop in on a Wednesday; bother the library, have a chat with lamp posts plus stock up on toiletries from Mother-Poundland but bus it home before dark mind for fear of phantoms ghosts ...
climb ing
Almost at the top I turn around to the valley behind the bulk of what's been climbed since gradient is in decline. The village below looks like a tiny model-village yet less detail - fainter, scant plus populated by ants. The clouds above me still they don't seem that much closer which can only be an illusion as the Sky Gods thrive on confusion. & then a murmur utters 'further' determination reapplied (very) almost at the top now but what lies beyond the other side ? ...
some stuff about the other bit
Snails race at great pace practically supersonic like an Otter on Berrocca or Billy Whizz but actually on it. Also rivers flow backwards Bats speak Flemish Bears shun all porridge Blackbirds sleep it's that half hour of the week & annoyingly some trees they fall in forests. Plus the Gnomes they compose Gnome-Poetry crude garden-based cantons & Magical stanzas when unseen - so free of man - no peeping & NO hidden cameras ...
hum a music-thing
Hum a music-thing upon awakening as shite daytime punches y' face; the Radezky March or the theme tune from Emmerdale whatever row rows your boat - a songbird chirp or hurdy-gurdy 'n' bass. Hum a music-thing in shit-traffic & HUGE queues & whilst surviving the jostley pavements in town, hum a music-thing then every1 else might join in until atishoo atishoo we all fall down ...
resarf poetry 