Travellers often stop, prod & ask us when I'm pretending to be asleep on tardy cobbled streets 'excuse me, do you know the way to Holland please?' & I reply 'why, certainly' then I gesture duly East. I hope they're good swimmers ...
Poems
multiple discharges
The incident with the euphonium that triggered sheer pandemonium, the day it almost snowed in August heralding a darker dawn chorus or the time when you disguised your reflection yet it still looked exactly like you - aye ink all these things & write it right through ...
them chattering
Always on a missive but never from God superstitions intermissions probably just odd misleading breezes but the branches still sing scrap yards & scratch cards most days mean these things ...
prayer poem
Dearest Gods of the Air then of course Jesus & the other 1 Lord please ban vintage steam fairs nasty dreams & all wars. Bad smells & smart cars the cult of celebrity glove puppets jumping on their own from opened cupboards & the piss-take annoying vagueness of brevity. Plus can we have more Butterflies in January? Will I go to HELL if I prefer dirty-sliced-white over granary? Are grey squirrels really a species or just that little bit older? Alleyways nice 1 4 glistening-listening & lifting these chips - in a bit off my shoulder. (AmEnd) ...
old scientists
Old school science shit text-books you were far too dated then with graphs 'n' graphics of a former century & black & white photographs glum fuzzy hairy men. Plus women with the thickest glasses in Christendom it's amazing how we have a population now I hated you 'cause you weren't English or History but somehow I still keep you -which is a fucking mystery ...
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 ...
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 ...
resarf poetry 