…
another garbled essay on
the nature of the essayist
a list of all the dreamer’s lists
or how your marbles vanished
a song about the songs we sang
…
Poetry
historical blame racket
…
margeret of anjou never
rummaged through your wheelie bins
no visigoth ever
misgendered your labradoodle
my great, great, great, great grandfather
did not jump the queue
in the bakers yesterday
or ghost you on tiktok
as the past is ossified
not the cobwebs of tomorrow
but the bones of groan elsewhere
( the future’s yet unwoven )
so clive of india
did not fuse your brand new toaster
& no ancient phonecian
ever pissed on your dog roses
…
shameless promo …
…
feel free to buy me a coffee at
buymeacoffee.com/resarf poetry
i know it’s a bit cheeky
but everyone else is on it already
or buy one of my books on amazon
i have my own page under the name duncan f-m
( thank you )
…
these little digs
…
then let’s begin
she can snap like
a terrapin
a donkey’s tail
the shirt i wore
is hairy now
a trowel – perhaps
your mouth & me
these little digs
a nettle here
a thistle there
– who’s weeding who?
it’s red ahead
with green unseen
the blue buffoon
is bellend i
both up & down
so winding then
he later wrote
a post-it note
explaining none
…
snapping time
…
the light inside
beyond stained glass
windows glows &
winter’s wind blows
her bright teeth bite
the seventh was
a pair, those two
so number five
& man alive
it can be this
don’t focus on
the moon within
or come what make
straw manifest
your own nowhere
so don’t go there
o’clock
…
corduroy, monsieur
…
un pantalon
velours côtelé
as they’re known in france
…
february – so february
…
february – then february
fifty p in change, please
late winter sunshine
a glimmer on your shoe
– a crocus or two
february – yes, february
four candles for candlemas
not fork ‘andles
that’s the two ronnies
xanadu ron-ron
february – oh, february
a valentines note
from the munter of my dreams
stroke terrible nightmares
but bugger all from you
february – so february
feathery yet woollen
sweaters sweat atop
of stringy thermal vests – yes
a heather hair shirt
february – cripes, february
a plump jenny wren
is pecking on my fat balls
– all the birds love ’em
( stop making up your own jokes )
…
( random author notes )
…
penned upon a wednesday
in your milkman’s mausoleum
written with squiddy ink
but no roadkill blood
possibly alt-clerihue
or confused haiku
garbled like a rewilded
gardener’s tongue
padded in places
mainly a-4 lined
nothing of note, nope
only notation
just the shapes of apes
yet may may contain
nuts & yet september
is the best month for it
before the hedgerows do
one like this poem
…
dear fact checkers …
…
elvis lives on the
moon with the loch ness monster
in a maisonette
…
feeding the redux
…
back before your ghost is born
bleating like a pygmy goat
breathe another biscuit tin
kiss a swan – & dawdle on
bite another bulletin
let the morning coffee sneeze
bring a pen of burning gold
older than the bastard hills
blear another clearing here
sliding like a trombone nose
billow, if the pillow speaks
cast a net of castanets
unarrange the normalcy
every daze – the beans & we
bless id us & sun above
when forever’s floating forth
…
