Cypress says…

fifteen twenty one
après-douche fancy fulfilled
anise rub down complete so
whilst smelling pungent
& puny as a nectarine
go below for liquid top up,
courageous blue remembered
mountainous coffee
the over rated preference,
but knowing deep down it
ought be sea-green tea
doing sterling slow hypnotic work on
jumpy pylorus & duodenum,
diffusing furry mauve limpets
on pearl heavy oyster communes…

yaboos sound below,
unplucked poultry bids farewell
hides dry roasted nuts—
a nation holds its collective bad breath,
an elephant farts in Rangoon,
diaphanous sub-uterine
crabby nebulae await the Year of the Cock

Spinsters conjure up bachelors
as pliant uxorious dotes
malinger on every sticky word,
both smiling bitterly
at tatty monographed hankies
which need a jolly good mend,
enduring cruel jibes resonate
in blue conniving eyes of
cruel frumpy girlfriends

fifteen fifty four:
Soon putative sun
sets itself beyond
elephantine cloud
blinding whitened fascia
gets inbetween aerosol
spray paint cataracts
danger! High voltage
celestial oblong blur
electric yellow interjects
Jaded crusty eyes struggle
Clueless under Capricorn

sheer impertinence



nostrils alert to

sniffable rain on the breeze,

heed telltale droplets

weeping on open fan window,

overnight shower

easily deduced to tears:

all other alternatives

seem a bit too far-fetched:

water sprinklers in February,

titans caught short

on early morning rampage,

and that old chestnut,

jet aircraft toilets.

View original post

…to be continued



as they have their lunch

The Prisoner of Haiku

makes it through the wall…

View original post


Let’s call it a day for now
Just so as you know what time
I want to call it
It is as you can see a poorly lit room

A long haired pedestrian
In a floppy wooden hat
Leans, stretches out,
Pulls back the curtains, reveals

A full on fading
gawping gibbous moon
obscured by insurgent ghost riders
careering from the Northlands
Spotted a giant clear as day
Paddling in the sea
Of Tranquility:
Cubistic Eyebrow,
unambiguous stark cyclops,
Ivory orb under
shut umbrella eyebrow:
Window latch serpent handle
oily black lipstick
Groucho Marx pisstake
Squinting snootily:
Adolf holding pince-nez
for the Hitler family album…
You know the type, don’t you?
seen it all before, love
seen it all before…
as clear as day it
was as clear as day

full moon setting…

clear tomorrow here
days zip past
often primrose trite
not so for others’ kites-
crucial times like these

Here (see below)
Going on a bit just then…
Becoming beings relax
after onset lycanthropia

dormant patients protect us
via guilt & frailty
‘We do not mean you any harm’
They say
‘Stop turning your backs’

as we once shall you

who may live to regret it
on the day when

it’s your turn to sleep

Trying so-so  hard to hide excruciating pain
Not to scare the horses of hope
a miserable prospect
for those poor bastards
personally affected by issues
considered in this poem
—Goodnight & Wake Up!

MiStah mOpp (Char-Man)




(duStpan & Bru(sj)sh),


(scRim & ChaMois),


(scour, raspish, Rubba)


(wax &shine –BufF)

& TouCh-UP

(blushEN, sh(ine)y, finesSE

up porCh (rouge, glOSSy LipstiCk)

Well doNe Job(Pat pate thrice: p-p-pAT)

(Well Done®…!)

View original post


Pressing buttons is fraught
With potential disaster
Self-destructive tendencies
Disregard consequences
Plunging headlong in the void
Swans dive slow in fetid lakes

Factors beyond dawn patrol
sense ebbs while love grows fragile
been there saw the t-shirt
savaged on the twilight wire
Scented sanguine tatters drip
On stony porous ground:
the first cut was the daftest
—how come we never learn
from our fascination
with cut & paste alibis?

Dubious communiques
arrive from far off lightships
coaxing weak sun jars pulsate
diligence smells of sawdust
meanwhile next door erudite
yes men jostle for number
one in the copycat charts
the truth fears for its life
in fugitive Siberia



Chat Poem #1

The abysmal dancer witters on:

‘…got a tweet from Buddha

naturally I tweeted back–

O! How we tittered.’


Looking out at ragged garden:

took  a modest winter battering

noxious giant Sussex Hens

word mind selects: ‘Topiary’


Sculpted hedgerow dinosaurs

mock Gothic ramparts; all shapes

phallic by decree,

got no choice in theses matters-

black racing car minus

backseat driver,

equals a dead duck,

& a family of

unreal estate elephants.


so nearly lost to reason I paused

came upon my senses

scattered all around.

The duties of the day press in:

Wake the dead, feed the head,

Clean up, sit up, sit down…

All go

All go rhythm


Chat Poem#2


Just now something moved me

& stopped me in mid-step

& I teeter on one foot

like a Wallander

hopping on barbed wire


I saw her on my morning

in the middle of her night

Blocking up the toilet

by the stark hospital light


I will see her later on

On her morning off

And we will argue once again



Leaf over leaf

The page is made

From wood


chipped and pulvered

Mulched and pressed


Blotter and wafer

Are a mystery

To me

But you can eat always

Rice paper.


This evening in the middle

Of her day

The washing machine will

Stop me from napping


We will eat supper for lunch

And I will dream of Dali’s

Lobster Flamingos

sulking in green mud




Just the very thought of it

& l just wet myself

Dry agony blocks sinuses


-welling floodgates spill over




When weeping willows

Transgress their quota of woe

Tell them no worries



Watched the wheel for all

It was not there some mud, chewing gum, and dog shit



Jupiter turned up

uninvited yesterday

Orrery troubles

Waiting in the wings he said

Pre-stressed concrete blocks ahead

signifying nothing yet





Up and down
Up and down
That’s him today for a change…
Down now
Up later…
To invariably find
Graham Nash still talking
Woodstock and Joni Mitchell
Edging closer to a close
California dreaming
Manchester Trade Hall
I love Jennifer Eccles
Life comprising Cakes & Ale
Occasional taste of honey
Stolen on Saddleworth Moor

Alptraums Ltd

While walking naked
Into the gas chamber one felt
A certain thrill at
one’s predicament:
bereft as one is of Ambassadors
Plenipotentiaries, creeps
& other former fellow
on the groovy train
to Gobbledegook Central

Nonetheless is more or less
A condition of extreme despair
Energises oneself to crave
A morsel to eat…
Or is it a trick
To lure me from this
Earth shat-a-ring-a-roses
Like twits leave sinking ships
Tree up (this time round)
On the deal (what)I made
Wit (ha-ha) myself & eye…
One before breakfast
thirteen days a week
for twenty nine days
How could I possibly
Make a telling difference
Without self-regulation?
Better word up quick
Stop flying by the seat
Of my sovereignty
Call a May Election
Climb a few more Alptraums
Mourn far distant Maidenhead

One Stop Shoplifter

The first Human Contact of
the Week Award goes to…

who, while supersaturated
with head-crunching prescription
drugs, heard out my proposal
with consummate alacrity…

Attempts to remedy the parlous
tobacco situation have fallen on deaf legs
A canned orchestra plays wistful dainties on the window sill
I listen out for salvation—
no salvation arrives on the ten-fifty two

Emil Coiran cracks me up
We are all failures—like it
Dormant bureaucrat
Can’t wait to get on with it
More disappointment on demand
Basic human rights movement
Sings love’s old sweet song:

Academe, Sweet Academe
How still I see thee
Lying through your teeth
Understand you shortcomings
Before you start discussions
Terms of endearment
Fall on quilted ears

Le Crunch

Ingratitude did not come easy to Adam at first, but he told me that once you get the hang it, it soon becomes a firm favourite with all the family, & creating just the right environment for it to thrive results in endless time consuming diversion…
—You’re obsessed! I thought, but he was my man and I did not want to prick his bubble
—What do you fancy to eat? I said
—Apple crumble, he replied contemplating apathy
The air grew thick with orange blossom.

—Maculate misconceptions are more frequent than first meets the eye, said the Omniscient Narrator, looking straight into camera two. And to me it seems somehow inevitable that this little episode will precede a fall to end all falls
—Well you should bloody well know, I thought, knowingly
Adam began to weep in despair, smelling trouble in the air, and cursed the green lentil stew for provoking his melancholia, exploiting his innocence.
—Fuck the crumble! I thought, angrily crunching the rosy apple, which, it must be said, tasted everso tangy if not a little toxic


Before I knew it I was flat on my back writhing in ecstasy with an Anaconda watching on, reading Constrictor’s Monthly, and smiling benignly at my antics
—You been at the apples, I see, it said in a broad, warm, matriarchal brogue
—Am I still in Eden? I asked
—No, Cirencester, the Serpent replied. All the apples you want here, my dear. Truth be told that’s all there fucking is. Excuse my French.
—Original Sin, I sobbed
—Non, mon petit dejeuner, said the Anaconda. Golden Delicious.


…halfway between ludic rant
& macabre reality
really ought i have a shower
Now the gas is flowing?
& get changed into
shy retiring tweed
Priestess of Thaumaturge
Scourgess of Pareidolia
Tirelessly seeking out
a poetry of cartoon shorts
to embed in your third eye
therefore upside down
sometimes inside out
eluctable in the dark

Insolent Green

Life enhancement calls the old & infirm ,
the homeless amputee, the various frail sticks
the homesick summary rejects of this gruel regime,
clumsy messages lost on deaf or dormant ansaphones—
perhaps they did themselves in overnight
& were swept up in the alms of public thaumaturges,
cleverly disguised as aliens in lime reflective dayglo
Mickey Mouse onesies who compress them

into giant black bin liners and stack them aboard
green public transports and drop them off
for re-cycling as motorway bollards by
Maggot & Maggot Ltd,
Proud exploiters of anything that’s going
since shite drew its first corrupted breath
& fucking weebles wobbled but never fell down…
Alternatively they might be having
A well deserved lie-in on this soggy Sunday morning

Dreaming of spring lambkins
Gambolling tumbling spilling
leaping giant cowpats
& kissing dandelions to
drift off in four leaf clover…
or just say I’ll call back later
Or another day or never again
as I know they are
deliberately not

Twelfth Night Fiasco

Elsie Gassbang-Trott
always told it like it was-
essentially transvestite
noble by disposition
or by dint of nature—
girls will be the boys
& the boys will be the girls:

Whatever you want
Twelfth Night of twelfth day

—Now is the winter
of snide discontent—
Wrong Play, Belch
Burp, barf, bark…
Enter broken head:
Well, why you did ask!

Coming up three in the sub-post office, rain, pretty dull, quiet, the games have started, think I’ll take a break, go below for a quiet smoke, finish my too sweet coffee; brains gone native, so to speak, not responding to all this gender swapping on the company wireless.
I can see the Puritans giving out soon if they don’t put a sock in this…

more cakes & ale, Toby-Baby
Think I’ll forge a billet-du or two
Set the ball
Gallivanting mad
in love’s tacky bagatelle

entreat those three interlopes
loitering by the knick-knacks
come hither nuncles
excorcise the stable stench
with bawdy ballads:

Feast of Fools, Feast of Folly
Indented coastline
enchanted Adriatic
Harbouring novelties
under your nose, Malvolio
Ship of Folly, Ship of Fools

War Boobies

Angels One Zero—
shy antihero comes good
post uplifting prang…

Burnt black kettle bam-a-lamb
Soiled jakes nettle bramley camp
Galingale smells waft slow
O’er Hurricano Horlicks

Watching World War One
won single handledly
reassuringly by brave
bumptious public school chaps
sporting pristine pewter tankards
guffawing at goodfellows
cuddling cadavers
torching teddy bears…

End of the end of
the beginning of end of
the most frightful fiasco:
the goal is to the post
as the post is to the goal…
& the whole is sometimes more
sometimes less than the sum
of its particles…
unquenchable thirst
for adoration—
first after epiphany

Killing time watching

silent movies on tv, just subtitles and soundtrack:
you are your own narrator, sat glued to your box, making sense
Somewhere Grace is sipping her morning Soave
shakily through a barbershop straw
recalling the warm thrall of Séance on a Wet Afternoon
hatching sub-plots for new crypsis
Next door a cynical foetus lurks
Listening to Statesboro Blues
Enraptured by womb thoughts
‘Meeting myself on the Way Back’
Repeats like film noir
Primo Carnero
Doffs his coxcomb
Syncopates fancy knotwork
Crying in a pisspot
full of contorting lugworms
Time is a great paella
Dunshaggin’ reads the legend
On the y-shaped coffin box

time to open up…

…belated birthday cards
cautiously pessimistic
murmur down below…

Will there still be Fennel cakes & Indian ale for tea?

mauve creams &  nice ointments salve
bruises aches lacerations
let us sing a daft song of sixpence
Baked in an Bean

Miser winds up radio
Widower haunts bungalow
Ghost of Xmas done

Sweet pea inside glum drum hums
My favourite things
Howls for hope & provenance
Thinks like ships in bottles
How did they get there?
Most of them sleepwalked
Others saw the writing
On the wall·

still do
mussed by brutal firelight


Worldly Weirdo Maps
Corpulent regent’s belly
Full of wind & piss
Town & Vandal Planning Act
Gargantuan appetite
Slimmer of the Year
Just resist everything
Butt redemption
Handy disapproval
in your inner ear
False conch shell less
Previous tenant—
A mongoose called Fred
Swapped strange towns for elephants
& monopods for dogmen—
Many unhappy returns
To Jerusalem & Beyond…


Now consider this
Photoshop malingering
Hanging on the wall
Still life crow reservation
Clambering for attention
ascending F6

Nothing better to do
Fifty eighth birthday climb
Panoramic view
Bewilderment as far as
Cloud cover permits
smart eye to wonder

This advantage point
Affords no contradiction
Crazy hawks circle
Contemplating Toblerones
Fraught with anticipation
oozing saliva
Eschatology dribbles
Drips from slow airliners
Replicate drizzle
Reichenbach or Angel Falls
Smatters not to I & i
under the rainbow

Chrimbo Limbo

Winter showers
Daylight hours
Few & far between
Fear no fear
Brand new year
Cloudy muddy scene

Chrimbo limbo days
Wasteland takeaways
bio-degrading phase
till St. Bridget’s Day

After showers
Lamplight hours
Near and close between
Far off spring
Bluebell ring
Rowdy crowded dream

Honky Tonk Shaman…

Timidly in new boots & scanties
Checking through messages
Lost in space in time
Pull blinds back…one two three cars

Unusual: three suspect pallets
strew non-conformist corners
heads jack-knifed on thin ice
black hole spills its load

All is quiet on New Year’s Day
Repeats on me like
Suspect mackerel
Wished my nostrils

happy birthday
Instead of New Year
Onset doolally
Or transubstantiation?

The clue lies in the carpet—
Cleopatra is present
If not quite with it
Still beggars can’t be choosers
& Donald where’s your trousers?
The wind blows high blows low
Over hollow land
Silly Land


Enshrouding us all
consumptive sageful frozen
fog obscures year’s end
taking one more day for granted
gormless formless fug
makes a list worth forgetting
declaring snidely:
auctions speak louder than words
citing crumbling masonry
ebbing sands of time desist
Soft! A milkman clinks
Stumbles through blue gloop fetching
discounted chocolates all
the way from bonny Belgium
and bumper size toilet rolls
meticulously trialed on
pliant Labrador puppies
in magnolia kennels


Early Magic Bus



sun don’t work today

sits on neon omnibus

weeping like a baby

jackdaw trapped in hearth set free

safe home now comrade raven

acknowledge the greatest

dreams keep their own diaries

float like an anapaest

from here to eternity

stinging butterfly

View original post

A Work of No Literary Merit



Five hundred before

legendary lost lunchtime

Torrential London

buses, easy similes,

heavy workload for

eternal editors,

that which is permanently

out to luncheon,

wield escutcheon spoon

limply with panache

seas contain plenty fishes

most worth throwing back

View original post




kept from the saddle by sleep and cider,

nestled in this cluttered room, this dimlit

hibernation station, wallow fallow in

the gathered gloom, the afternoon moon

this is the time for those who dream in daytime,

those who gather and hunt, those who like me

watch from windows, making shade from shadow,

form from substance, the things that dreams are made on.

View original post




Sheer sparkling wit,

wild infant crazy hopes,

whose voices, too true, call to us all

like spooks

Whistles and rattles

View original post

Hunting the Humless



Four minutes past late

The long and the short of it…

Cleared out the empties.

Priced up cheapo books for Juul;

Made some fresh coffee;

What’s to do next, Boss?

Review the twelvemonth, Arthur!

The third Afghan War

proved a futile sacrifice

same as the first two

Old top brass eye up the next,

mothers weep for a tearless world,

alcohol poisoning

has doubled, trebled, wobbled


Anything else, Boss?

A hard shoulder to cry on

View original post

Candid Chimera


Indian Tepee, Kenora, Ontario.

Last Night of…

extreme dreams,

stark monochrome fluid,

freeway floral wallpaper,

rotting damasks, shillelagh,

almonds and formaldehyde.

White light, white sheet.

Jammin’ Jerusalem

Jute wailing bunnies.



exhausted from the lie-in:

cobalt clear still sky

flossed with high flying drifts,

orchestras of demi-gods trail

home spent.

We scavenge the tepee for beans,

celebrate love apples with libations of strong coffee,

and weep and fear for the band snakes,

Asian gators, and tigers on the fridge, hiding behind

the fabric conditioner, still ready to pounce on sleepy

Moorhen’s eggs.

Your runnin’ and

your runnin’ and

your runnin’ away

from yourself.


View original post

Seaward Huh!

Crashed out from seven to eleven
& so on & so forth all the long night long
Necessarily punctuated by bouts of micturition, coffee
& tap water, insucks on a menthol vape, alpha
Meandering through the channel & guides in search of
Something beyond my control·I am not
Who I was & am what I am·
Winzerschlafenziet or so they call it
In wobbly obscurantist circles:
Crimson sheets barely tell
The tip of the icebreaker
Crashing through pack ice
& all night teleshopping
Even when soaked overnight
In saline and lavender
Quite why I am here
For some reason escapes me
(common in a chick of my age
That’s what oft I hear)
Or so the experts, goldfish
And fellow imbeciles explain
I think there is another reason:
Terminal boredom
Which (I am unreliably informed)
Comes from deep down within one
A remark that never fails to
Incite me to outrageous
acts of crochet & fretwork
which I later would mortally regret
If I could only remember what they
Were & consider them worth
Categorising as such—
this also bores me and drives me to fits
of desperation that distract me & that’s
why accidents like people occur…

No dump!
Where’s my strutting arrogant piranha gone?
Stone crazy bower birds pinch my trinkets.
Harpies pester & rag my innards.
Make a stand for decency!
Go to ‘Sea’ again before the New Tear
Guess I’ll go below
& take a blow
Fake a bow to indifference
Milk the plaudits for what they’re worth
Fifty short of six thousand likes for the year
& not a bean to show for it
But the inner glow…

fecund isotope

Dawn skyline silhouette
Centrefold cardboard pop up
charcoal rooftops part
Exposing awesome schism
Giant rocket gone to seed
Oversees gurt grey divide
Totem hides taboo
Purple sprouting broccoli
Also springs to mind
Thing and winnowy
Long bolemic pins
Dangle down half-heartedly
Look stronger than this close up

Santa Clues



To meet

face to face

my face and me

to gaze agog

on a sea of me.

A sea

of sudden time

surrounds, breaches,

fills my head from source:

one bright  blithe crystal

on the russet titanium floor,

caught in a chance manner,

a blip,

a pulse,

the fading morning bonnet fleets.

Gone as quick as it came,

we chanced a profound sorrow to part

and were gone.

View original post


poohsticks gone eleven
lesser spotted orangemen
after their endeavourings
removing crud
from one’s broken footpath
and sublime resurfaced road—
tootled out to sneak a keek in
my little black boxers,
gait of a failed weightlifter,
minus safety belt and talcum powder,
and exaggerated out blasts
of plump me up breath;
Xmas card
from ‘Jason, your devoted milkmaid’.
Blake & the Gilchrists, Palmer the Painter (not the poisoner, or was he?)
Sub-bucolic seditious
portrayals just show the hell of rural life—groan unpleasant land yield up your fish!
Either way
they brought Mad Blake deserved fame·
after all that’s all that matters·
Mad panning meeting:
sludge, silt, plastic beads,
Jock McRock—lapsed mason,
Well bonkers demi-scourge
bristling with bad ideas and good intent,
impresario in the do’s and don’ts of anarchio,
former surgeon to pinocchio— slopes of early
into that good night of sturgeon’s seed
& introverted ptamigan’s
Eggs Benedictine
Compensate for tedium
Pitiful compensation:
Mandelbrot chipolatas spark
Kaleidoscopic twilight…
Gerraway with you!


Machete Bolognese



vane bonfires fade

spontaneous implosive

embers smoulder on

View original post


Prospect of Summer
in the Peak District provides
A pleasing enough distraction
From progressive viola
A Popedream well worth puffing on…
Six o’clock roll trolls droll dread
AA Gill—he Dead
Famous for fifteen minutes
Nothing like Andy Warhol
He’s been dead famous for yonks
A Larkin moment!
Brass rubbing in Matlock Bath
If it’s not been pinched by oiks
In Purple Brothel Creepers
Hanging round coffee houses
Contemplating patricide
No good to man or beast
If the truth be known

Ode to a Lincolnshire Sausage

Such wondrous feasting!
make intransigence
give way to transformation
ghostly dead grey days dissemble
autonomous motion pictures
inanimate manikins
submit to buff lamination
& stringent English Mustard

Morning becomes Electric


moon & venus

Cool moon and Venus,

thick tar bipolar cable

stands in for a horizon,

shutter your left eye

frame it all in one clean

elongated myopic square

careful to include

 insignificant details-

bare rowan twigs,

fragile mildew gilded boughs,

beatified by sun,

bronzed as clean new gold.

(midwinter berries perish

in robust spring storms,

eaten by cold doves,

or down drains

flapping about

like sink spiders floundering

in numinous U-bends

under sinks

all over the world).

View original post

The Invisible Sixth

Traffic trumps ethics clucks…read a bit, listening to gnomes & druids
Swaggering clouds puff dragon’s teethy briar pipes…
Milton in fetters, Blake O’Blumenthal.
Blake’n’Pinball—Marriage of Heaven and Hell
All time top score!

Mummblings inner cavernous sports hall near Hemel Hempstead
Mystical masterpieces…and why knitty-knot?
Kind hearted adult rage
Go follow your bliss—mental composer!

Clay, Eveline…who are you kidding, Bud?
Lazy putz, busking it, busking it sloppily
It is not writing, is it?
Just not as we know it, Radar

Smoked salmon rags,
house radish sauce &
flash green brain salad sandwich
scourge my philistine god
Afternoon preoccupied
Chewing on it
Repenting at leisure—
In the belly of the fish
Monsters! All shapes & sizes
Variety of small grain boxes
‘what d’you want today?’
The invisible sixth one




Wobbly pins today

Whacked out all night wall walker

Putting on sea legs

Walk like an Egyptian

Provides chronic ironic

Cerebral mantra

lends rhymer rhythm

on icy towpaths

View original post

Land without Bread


Tea tree pungency

Midday twenty three.

Kilbride’s secret went

to the grave with him

everso tiny

peanut butter sandwiches

stitched into his stomach lining

there were no flies on Kilbride

just wasps and hornets

Pretty common for late August

In Andalucía

View original post




Carbuncles, moles, tumescensces,

spots, scar tissue, warts, blackheads, scabs,

bubos, boils, and bruises…the rest is blistery.

View original post








way to

carry on





the best

of times













nant pool








takes you







View original post

A Jakes Progress


Father lampshade,

Mother rug,

go gliding upstairs

through dreek formless fug,

real time is taking shape.


Thus can Moby Grapeseed  dwell

in grotty motley,

spangled alcazar;

nasalizing hypnotic

verse into a well-travelled

voice recorder on the jakes

for acoustic, hygienic

and ambient purposes.


Here he will be found by a

stranger with an

axe and smartphone,

who will flush out thoroughly,

do his duty and wash his hands

View original post

…two doors down

red cross parcel  weird ripped

Open by calm alacrity

Strident cumulus

Any colour you pick out twice

Peculiar paint box bollard

(at this juncture-named red house—

You know the old barns?)

Straw broke tallow willow

Sceptred broken leather clasp

Strange Misericord

makes definition

stop making sense by

form without we breathe


”the who…?-

What bliss awaits me below?
Something hot & spicy
Most probably not
You’re really struggling
Hey-ho dontya know the cats
Seethe despair differently
Mucal chissled grins
Hang hissing round the door
Most insistently
They beg for essence:
Ignored children shout a lot

Trial by Ordeal

Love trains leave by night

How swift desire passes

in this Wistful age of steam

Ecstasy clouds good judgement

All’s unfair in love

We are all war Criminals

Awaiting trial by peer

Group hysteria

Tread wary hunted Minotaur

Now standing on Platform Four

A seagull bound to tell lies

Omniscient eye drifts lullaby

hooded peregrine


sleazy keyboard,

diligently counting syllables,

keen hidden gleanings,

scatter chipped prune stones,


behaviourally disturbed rook

that mistook

all night pharmacy

for a sweetie shop




Eleven bellows
cogitate thirty eons
of time that never was, is,
or ever will this day forth:
More coffee and quanta, my Duck?
Und warum nicht, my Leda?




Dusk come dark

drapes half drawn

Hear a bark

feel a yawn

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Toe & Froe

Back again at just gone ten
after a power breakfast
with Mr Clay, Ms Self, and the Demi-urge.
A frozen garden, a propped
up green wheelbarrow glued
to an icy rotary clothes line.
Frost suspends decay of jungle beanplants.

What else did you see?
Or hear? Or taste? Or touch? Or smell?

Fields in collision, tectonic plates lying shattered,
or just another trad night down the Greeks.
I see.
So thought Inspector Spangle, flicking through
the photos from scenes of crime:
no time, no space, just action
invisible, eternal delight,
energy in a bun dance.
What could be less clear than that?

Yea, housing, phone calls, Victoria Derbyshire…

I know, I know, I know. Stop nagging me!
It’s all work in progress.

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