Poem

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

...

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

...

pass it all on…

 Nan used to tell me old Folk Tales

& never-ever-ever-ever

eat your own toenails 

only other peoples'

that internet is evil

the Hun don't like it up 'em

& next door are in league with weasels.





Plus it's only witches

that get chickenpox 

twice

butterflies are too nice

always neat - no ice

& sometimes wolves

are sheep in disguise

never double-cross a morris dancer

- yes, she was wise

...

jam (at a glance)



Strawberry's for tourists 

& the yawningly boring,

Damson's handsome

& Plum makes us glum,

Greengage beckons seachange

& Chilli burns y' bum.





Raspberry?

Exactly

if it's a Bakewell Tart it has to be,

Rhubarb 

well that's an extra's script

& Blackcurrant's dark-Satanic-shit.





But delicious, sublime & great,

Apricot binds

a Battenberg Cake,

Traffic's too slow

to merit a mention

plus Toe's for scent & show

NOT human ingestion

...

sheep get everywhere

Flockin' Hellfire!

Them sheep get everywhere

beyond as far 

as my eyes can see,

so it's only a matter of time 

like

before they're our Shepherd & Master

- yes, the inevitable ovine

conspiracy.





From cold Arctic wastelands

to peng

desert islands

be it Dalesbred, Gritstone

 or Ryeland

- say y' prayers,

aye even the monster under the bed 

is running chicken-scared

as last time I looked

there was actually nothing there

so I check for sheep instead now

'cause sheep get

 EVERYWHERE

(!)

...