…
irk in cathode
catkin overload
cloven hoofed yoof
old mango skin
syntax wheelie bin
…
…
irk in cathode
catkin overload
cloven hoofed yoof
old mango skin
syntax wheelie bin
…
…
galactic gannets
the costerman’s spanner
a venturing in vest
apparently a porpoise
the formless, formerly
…
…
the milkman’s mishaps
the matron’s ozempic face
the minstrel’s bad breath
the miller’s trapped wind
or the mayor’s hairy elbows
…
…
can the candlemaker
blow the candles
on his birthday cake?
does the grocer’s daughter
know her onions
like her father?
how far does the farmer
plough the field
before the seagulls
then descend
& feast upon
the worms that squirm in furrows?
will the wicked winter wind
frisk us all
fruzzen?
has the haberdasher
dashed
down to the harbour yet?
do the bible bashers
worship badgers
on the sly?
when will the spring
sing a hymn
like a poem thing?
…
…
we became the pages
like the photographs
of the calendar’s turn
over & collapse
catch another breath then
whack the kettle on
formerly’s a rain cloud
once is now upon
i, the ‘nana milksop
shaken like a leaf
tumbles in the breezes
time is but a thief
you, the feathered future
darker than the crack
of a massive arse’ole
so shadows attack
furthermore it’s autumn
winter’s on its way
walk into the evening
as the mantis pray
’til the badgers samba
as the toadstools spore
roaming in the gloaming
knocking on death’s door
…
…
can the candlemaker
blow the candles
on his birthday cake?
does the grocer’s daughter
know her onions
like her father?
how far does the farmer
plough the field
before the seagulls
then descend
& feast upon
the worms that squirm in furrows?
will the wicked winter wind
frisk us all
fruzzen?
has the haberdasher
dashed
down to the harbour yet?
do the bible bashers
worship badgers
on the sly?
when will the spring
sing a hymn
like a poem thing?
…
…
alternative uses for a parsnip
how to tie a shoelace in a gale
the top ten city breaks on mars
eight great walks on jupiter
my custard cream hell
why we need to reinvent the thimble
five more poets – to ignore this autumn
…
…
in between the drops
& the drips from the tap
in the bathroom’s sink
holes for all your pigeons
a smidgeon of ink
a wink & a nod
off before the whistle
yet we never saw
those thunderclouds coming
up from the ground
a mystery is blooming
chuntering left
to this very laptop
& other such devices
download complete
& then repeat
looping those cassettes
retracing echoes
of the future’s spanners
picking up steam’s litter
grabbing at the fog
horns on his head
tread with feathered feet
we, the incomplete
& utter gubbins
fall like an autumn
chorally crow
…
…
custard creams? maybe
a fig roll or pink wafer?
perchance a chocolate hobnob?
an orio? we just don’t know
or broken bits of biscoff?
digestives still might
save the day?
a shortcake fit
for a jacobite prince?
a penguin we can
p-p-p pick up?
or bourbon – possibly?
( ? )
open the tin & see
…
…
scrumpled up & stuffed
in the side left pocket
of your lucky tracky b’s
between odd socks
handkerchiefs, neck frills
perchance a tea towel
soon the cycle’s set
rescue before drowning
…