Poetry

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

…

may, may

…

may, may

a day & a pole

yes, perhaps a horsy foal

prancing on the pastures

like a young queen camilla

or anne hathaway

– that-a-way beckons

may, may

the aquilegia soar

all is an almond

if reason is the rhyme

then it’s time for swingball

pan faked it all

like an ancient john darwin

may, may

the dead were never dead

said the makeshift scarecrow

to the crickets in the thicket

& the cuckoos in your mind

as a snark sings hymns

in the throbbing hedgerow

may, may

where the gnomes sunbathe

as the milking maids

gargle pink lemonade

barefoot on the garden lawn

dawn is a yellow

wagtail’s egg

may, may

trainers or walking shoes

hoodie not jacket

scibbles in a notepad

gladder than sir galahad

glowing goes my muse

deep green be thy elbows

…