if you were a bus

if you were a bus

i’d sit on your back seat

& rest my weary arse cheeks

but i’d rather you sat on me

i’d gaze out of your window

in between crossword clues

& see the town vanish

the grey becoming green

it’s leafier each blink

as blue rinsed biddies natter

on what to have for tea

& who should win strictly

i’d ride within your frame

& test your braking speed

the tyres & suspension

like a proper fuckin’ wrong’un

who should be on a register

& tagged for good measure

we would sweat in august

but warm a dark december

on the long road home

in the evening’s golden gloam

& then i’d ring your bell

when our stop approaches

he of brighter bicycles


he of brighter bicycles ( selcycib rethgirb fo eh )

i’m a breathing pantomime

sings the scribbled ink

      with some super glue

      stick a pube or two

he of brighter bicycles

an easter egregore

      all is throbbing thickets

      & toads upon toadstools

rabbits not rubble

the catch is in the double

     trembles of treble

      as hares box the air

hespero & i

wandered of a morning

      on the road of romans

      quarrymen & drovers

time is like a light

in the dim of thought

      nought is but an egg

      scrambling the smeg

weaver of before

in the mirror – rayed

      ‘fore the dawn’s middle eight

       & chorus to fade

we are collectors


we are collectors by ndiwjei2ye2y3yy34y


when we collect things

we become collectors

as we build up a collection

of sorts

like blue magazines

or antique trampolines

no pressure

the decision is yours

& then down the line

we can sell this collection

& all the possessions

that we own

but we can still collect dust

one's wits & one's thoughts

as we plan what to collect next

naked & alone



always keep a handkerchief


always keep a handkerchief by han d kerchief


always keep a handkerchief

tissues soon reduce to mush

come a downpour

pretend that you're a viscount

most strangers are killers

but try to get out more

consider the bee in clover

but never dare to see

golf's dark appeal

always keep a handkerchief

go to bed around the same time

eat 3 square meals



excuse me, i’m a poet


excuse me, i’m a poet by tom tarpaulin


excuse me, i'm a poet

yes poet coming through

we love all the pointless things

as that's what poets do

excuse me, i'm a poet

& poets can jump queues

then get special discounts

coz we're not plebs like you

excuse me, i'm a poet

behold my mighty pen

all my friends are poets

i don't have any friends

excuse me, i'm a poet

this gift is a godsend

destined to bore so blame the lord

until my fitting end

thank you