if nothing else Spring has wandering hands it fondles these pastures gropes over this land it gets the unexpecting when they least suspect the dirty old beggar yes Spring is a pest ...
Poetry
shapeshifter diaries
last week began as a bat echo location warm blooded flaps then became a merged toady-cat blending the familiar shades of witchcraft. then further from there to mrs. sinclair the m62 mount sinai a shrew plus random tangents yes many strange changes but all this week exclusively i'm you ...
them next doors
my new next door neighbour's from the 1690s a living artefact an antique. behind - the other side lies a retired roman legate the new one moved in last week ...
planet pantomime
there's no escaping pantomime wherever you try to run & hide be it up a rocky crag or in the valley wide they'll be a dame in drag a talking cat or magic lamp. aye at any time of its thigh-slapping year coming soon in june at the end of the pier this way ex-soap stars still have a career it's behind you - oh yes it is fear the panto FEAR ...
becoming poultry
restless legs lead to awkward struts trembly scoring encoring definitely wembley then it spread to both elbows inevitably kicked in so in the absence of a cure i sort of walk like a chicken ...
sunday morning stuff
hark a chorus lawnmowers the odd rebel hedge trimming weather permitting then strimming pond life tadpoles swimming woodpecker lesser spotted bird feeder still goddit blood & vomit in places saturday's pavement traces x ...
face the graze-phase
greenery scenery not up to much gradually feasting chewing the cud. grazing not waning bollocks 'n' mirth takin' my time like eat off the Earth ...
edward iii
if unmonitored this watch goes historical its cogs drag us back into the depths of the past just this morning we awakened in the 14th century temporally far from home when edward iii was on the throne ...
the thought that counts
there's nowt more ugly than money but our world is run by bankers - the wankers in the depths of this now post-land of milk & honey where you can still read this poem for FREE ...
vernal ditherings
springtime never really dies instead out of season it hides & skives yet old ewes & rams were once new lambs there are traces of spring in everything then cometh the owl it launches an attack a dawn raiding party then winter is sacked yes death to death breathe life on black aye it's called springtime 'cause it always bounces back ...
resarf poetry 