Poetry

parish councillor song

…

i’m a parish councillor
& the birdie song
is my mobile’s ringtone

i’m a parish councillor
i cycle with no helmet
‘cos i play golf with death

i’m a parish councillor
& all these cardigans
were hand knitted by artisans

i’m a parish councillor
& once i had a scooby-doo
& hair like george michael

since is the prince
& cash in brown envelopes
& cloudy amber ales

as i’m a parish councillor
& one of my young granddaughters
looks like jimmy nail

yes, i’m a parish councillor
just helping out my friends
& giving something back

oh, i’m a parish councillor
& charity is me
& hallowed by my name

…

neath long raincoats

…

baggy trousers
not the spanners

of the normalz
in their tight jeans

in a cloudburst
out the other

while we stroll in
looser garments

gargle forth with
wonky songbooks

yet red herrings
they pretend we’re

disappearing
in their sadness

& codswallop
twice is better

in the attic
of the nutter

soon is later
than last morning

thurisaz then
see yuz later

so begin once
more with onions

they the weeping
us the green fields

…

tree time

…

we became a tree
with skin as hard as bark
& squirrels upstairs

the woodpeckers peck
the winter storms test us all
with bellowing bursts

of blow yer own horn
but we’re the giants’ hatstands
– owls were here last night –

in the woodland’s bowels
in the here of fade away
waiting for that spring

to reboot like feet
even though we now have roots
in am-dram workshops

…

the famished folk

…

a chicken that quacks
like a mallard up river

& a five pound discount voucher
for those already ripped off

no more limescale
slightly less wars

a christmas in spring
& easter on halloween

a.i jesus archetypes
curing bots ‘n’ what not’s

twenty more genders
& a duck that clucks

is all the big mob
with the big gob wish

so give the hungry crowd
what the famished folk want

…

although – the acrostic

…

a nswers arrived on postcards
apples fell on you
l etters never sent still came
line dancers went full circle
t he garden centre flourished
toadstools croaked
h illtop views subdued us all
harold burnt the hot cross buns
o pen sandwiches saved the day
offa renamed his p.c ditch
u kelelists struck a chord
unicyclists graduated
g olden pheasants shone
gnomes scratched noses
h ippos fled the mud bath
hellcats went to heaven

…

oh lofty one

…

your sunken afternoon
came far too sodding soon
if you’re a neutron star
then i’m a minor moon

your blissful sun kissed beach
has crabs & sinking sand
or so to sausage speak
your blossom zen is bland

i’d rather ride atop
a wooden rocking chair
than wander in the blank
of your phantastic there

where khaos only knells
a distant, milksop bell
but nature flaps ‘n’ kens
that all too feathered well

the haunted laughter in
the restless woods & that
the dawdles of the loons
the spoons, the stupid twats

is freer than the ice
the frozen plod in thy
the formless, yawning storm
behind your prudent eye

as panting pantomime’s
a field, a frog, a horse
another sort of muse
another obtuse force

…