…

tin whistle then
the ghostly folk men
in bright white coats

scrawl this morrow
blue is the new black
unslept in sigh

why is beyond
once upon mute swans
middle eight ten

cold winter day
grey like lady jane
old shuck’s breakfast

beans in a can
the turin shroud wink?
clouds below groan

dick turpin’s neck
turns like warwick’s earl
facing the gaze

rearrange strange
faith in her water
warmer than flames

…

…

so january – oh, can you see
your phantom limbs, a fantasy?

dear february & feathered friends
the present’s span – it never ends

um, muddled march – just starch my shirt
a brighter white – not shades of dirt

yet april’s ape’s a jape, a shape
a floating cloak ( perhaps a cape? )

give may a spin – then let’s begin
with buttercups, a yellow chin

though broken june – will never tune
the moon’s kazoo – or his bassoon

so sing july, when thicket throbs
with cricket legs ( instead of gobs )

as august dusts – my dresser shelf
the rest is just ~ a woodland elf

would september – remember us
the scattered ash, an omnibus

of october – the ghostly year
& slowly so we … disappear

yes, november – is peppermints
then spot the cat, the leopard sprints

we’re december, the ember’s spark
we reignite ( each morning lark )

…