Poems

fifty p in change

…

fifty p in change
underneath the sofa

eight greylags
vee a skein above

honking over rooftops
slates & chimney pots

sixty six freckles
upon your uncle’s arse cheeks

gravy skin suit
the parson’s nose job

best before the twenty eighth
reheat on gas mark four

pardon my parsnips
slide like a friday

thirty three minutes past
two in the afternoon

…

the darling buds of maybe

…

yes, perchance the ants will dance

in a bumpkin’s barn

probably the breeze will sneeze

beavers dam & darn

badgers might invade peru

if the sapling twigs

beanstalks scratch magonia

penguins fly with pigs

fatter lambs on pastures graze

scotch egg hatchlings preen

poets unwrite purple prose

traffic lights stay green

certain stirs more than the rest

yet that west wind blows

southern norths & east again

up the parson’s nose

at a toss the sea could wave

at the midlands far

rubber chickens cross the road

as we umm an aah

balladeers with big ears could

bore us all again

woods in oakest albion

shelter us from rain

it’s likely – like v.d that

june is next as well

possibly the wasps will bee

if the bluebells knell

( ? )

…

community comments page

…

i stand with the snakes
the slugs & the snails

i blame the blameless
& the teachers of the parents

i was so offended
when the bots were not offended

i vote for so & so
& i despise the othered them

i think they should bring back
dodos & echoes

i agree – mixed aggregates
are a sort of lottery

i heart emojis
& shag the current thing flag

my condolences
to the latest dead z-lister

…

spatchcock friday

blessed bee thy bumbles
thy stumbles & thy staggers
but there’s daggers in the eyes
of the hi-vis enforcers

~
voltaire’s horse
bolted after thunderclaps
captain birdseye’s cousin
will meet you in the cubicles

~
bring your own sandwiches
& speak unspoken languages
fear the lollipop
the lady of mortlake

~
crematorium
we’re scrawling down in lieu
yes, in memoriam
plodded like all tennyson

~
the dismal drear of yesteryear
yes, drizzle disappear
a momentary tortoise shell
a herring-red admiral

~
or hannibal, the punic wars
but animals in human form
will scowl us tossers to
& fuckers fro, then home

…

the gaps between the trees

…

bend another then
the colour of your elbows
is turning in vernal

~
shades of vivaldi
his pizzas & hotels
or the winter of your mind

~
the gaps between the trees
where the birds bristle
the mistle thrush & robin

~
hoods on & hats down
in the cellar’s cool
cucumber harvest

~
festival fare
maidens & morris men
parsnips & panpipes

~
bursting big cloudy
lemonade bubbles
up from below

~
fibre in each flex
limbs & begin
when forever’s floating

…