Poetry

so jigsaw all

…

a scatter graph
a falling tree

the silent sky
is calling me

it’s pickled eggs
perhaps below

a sort of flute
a piccolo

so soon the moon
before the sun

a smoking road
an open gun

the spanners came
a muddled life

each cul-de-sac
is doubled strife

oh broken flow
a tit in bits

so jigsaw all
& see what fits

the custard cans
& cantaloupes

a tudor rose
spaghetti hoops

…

( & so to be continued )

…


yet the poet lived

to bore us all again

so

the river found the sea

then became an estuary

rain fell on the desert

like custard on dessert

but

the fire in my heart

was only saint elmo

the bee in your bonnet

was a lost bluebottle

plus

the trees played possum

at the bottom of the garden

the sous chef knew

a recipe for remedy

thus

the cowherd heard

the cows moo music

…

novemberm

…

a village lost in fog
perhaps the flying dutchman
your long lost cousin

five leaves left
on yonder english oak
as the river man plays

say what you meantime
in the great unrhyming
as the dormice snore

so, it’s november
then beyond the tentacles
of october’s octopus

scatter each thought
like stale breadcrumbs
& feed the phantom ducks

here in the midlands
bolting the blue
& loosening screws

gold became grey – we’re
waiting for the flood
to swallow us whole

…

just delivered

…

another ransom note
that i’ll never bloody pay

old joseph bloggins
has kidnapped my young goat

a letter from my penpal
from yon fifteenth century

written with a quill
upon the eve of bosworth

a farmfoods flyer
but i prefer iceland

that’s where mum went
to see the volcanoes

a postcard with a cryptogram
a caesar cypher code

from her with the fake nose
glasses, tache combo

psst with a nod’s wink
syncing like stopwatches

plus three orange pips
from the k.k.k

in the mail today

…

unwritten light

…

shafts of the dark stuff
cut like shoulder blades

unwritten light
brightness blights my way

tree bark troubadour
who could ever remedy

the memory hole
& the turnpike’s toll?

pain is biting now
mouthfuls of me

mothballed misery
is company & cumbersome

spirals spin in your
half arsed smile

funny like a sunday
mind your own farmhouse

rearrange faces
float, if possible

pickled onion underling
infinity chaffinch

…

you never ate the world

…

you never ate the world
you barely ate a clod

sod all really, deary
but oh – you bloody moan

woe is me with bells on
cripes – end this tripe & write

a song beyond cliché
we all know feathers are light

& repetition can help
& repetition can help

but can be a distraction
but can be a distraction

so come on ducky, don’t suck
yesterday’s sour milkshake

your carton’s empty now
soon all your friends will purr

please see beyond your arse cheeks
et cetera beckons

…

( we never talk about )

…

the ice cream van man’s meltdown

the town crier’s tonsillitis

the french lieutenant’s wombat

the history student’s past

the pantomime cow’s trapped gas

the belly dancer’s ulcer

the night the contortionist snapped

how train spotters let off steam

the broken english teacher’s toe

the spanish onion dicer’s tears

the candlemaker’s waxen ears

…