Poetry

the haunted city



6 miles

to the south of here

the haunted city lies;

Celtic, Roman, Saxon, Norse

- the Normans of course

yes, built by times.





& I like to pop in

on a Wednesday;

bother the library,

have a chat with lamp posts

plus stock up on toiletries

from Mother-Poundland

but bus it home before dark mind

for fear of phantoms





ghosts

...

climb ing

Almost at the top

I turn around to the valley

behind the bulk of what's been climbed

since gradient is in decline.





The village below looks like

a tiny model-village

yet less detail - fainter, scant

plus populated by ants.





The clouds above me still they

don't seem that much closer

which can only be an illusion

as the Sky Gods thrive on confusion.





& then a murmur utters 'further'

determination reapplied

(very) almost at the top now

but what lies

beyond the other side

?

...

some stuff about the other bit



Snails race

at great pace

practically supersonic

like an Otter

on Berrocca

or Billy Whizz

but actually on it.





Also rivers flow backwards

Bats speak Flemish

Bears shun

all porridge

Blackbirds sleep

it's that half hour of the week

& annoyingly some trees they

fall in forests.





Plus the Gnomes

they compose

Gnome-Poetry

crude garden-based cantons

& Magical stanzas

when unseen - so free

of man

- no peeping

& NO hidden cameras

...

hum a music-thing

Hum a music-thing

upon awakening

as shite daytime

punches y' face;

the Radezky March

or the theme tune from Emmerdale

whatever row rows your boat

- a songbird chirp 

or hurdy-gurdy 'n' bass.





Hum a music-thing

in shit-traffic

& HUGE queues 

& whilst surviving the jostley pavements

in town,

hum a music-thing

then every1 else might join in

until atishoo

atishoo

we all fall down

...

pass it all on…

 Nan used to tell me old Folk Tales

& never-ever-ever-ever

eat your own toenails 

only other peoples'

that internet is evil

the Hun don't like it up 'em

& next door are in league with weasels.





Plus it's only witches

that get chickenpox 

twice

butterflies are too nice

always neat - no ice

& sometimes wolves

are sheep in disguise

never double-cross a morris dancer

- yes, she was wise

...

grab a pew…



Mildly unamused Libran Tree Surgeons,

frenetic Phrenologists,

diabetic Numerologists.





Liquid Petroleum Gasp enthusiasts,

Mesolithic Mendicants,

all Entities great & sentinent.





Including

secret-mitten-knitters,

Visigoth staticians

plus the Venerable Lamashtu

- grab a pew

...

hobbyist apocalypse

 

  • The Campanologists decided
  • to end with a clang

defy the essence of time

in chimey unison rang.





The Philatelists pored & ogled through

their Stanley Gibbons books

whilst licking the front of their favourites

& shedding tears - with final goodbye looks.





The Ikebanists they seemed to

at last lose their powers

so now devoid of their Dark-Witchcraft

unarranged lovely flowers.





Plus the poet-lot simply wrote on

as all shit crumbled & evil winds blew

oceans drowned & mountain ranges tumbled

but their stray words dreamed

of dawns anew

...