Toward a Greater Madchester!

Rolling around weighing up the options for the next phase?
Life is what happens when you are making other plans

So you like pith then
Are you buying or selling?

online depersonalization bureaucracy rears its ugly head
academic qualification or hiding behind mummy’s skirts throwing stones from the long grass?

Be brutally honest. Crap at deadlines and references, useless file organizer, prone to rage and self-destructive fugues.

Would Tai chi & yoga not be better for you?
Are you a glutton for punishment, trial by ordeal, the futile fight unto the death of all hope.

Yes, most of the time
A glutton for punishment then?
A glutton full stop.

Do not publish this even when the urge to fill the void is huge
Anything to avoid a haircut and a shower

Have another cigarette…
I shouldn’t really

Why do anything anyway?
Your crap at life let’s face it.

Suppose so…

It’s all on the internet anyway if you really want or need to know

Better to get out more, meet new people to glower at
Yea, Glower Power—sounds catchy

Carmine Vapours

Surprise visitor!
Ginger Rogers fresh from heaven
knock me down with a feather boa

give us a twirl then luv
‘aren’t you going to ask me?’, she said
Ask you what I close upped

Strong silent typography
‘How does it feels to be dead?’
She thinks I’m Peter Fonda

Poor love goddess,
They all go a bit
Sunset Boulevard

I give her my father’s best side
And flash the trademark
well-upholstered teeth

she smiled knowingly
We parted on the best of terms
It had not always
been like that…in fact never
quite like this before

Dumping Ground

Rowdies from Cathay burst in growling
oriental chainsaw rap about
a cherry blossom spelling peril:
silver trembles gall on emerald leaf 
schisms split the sky wide open
rents increase on the picket line

flaked out in gauze tropospheres
seek out sedation
sifting though space junk
plunder in the sparse first light
chocolate rooftop silhouettes
opposite form a rhombus corpus
each a pollarded alp
sprouting crumbly chimney stumps
decapitated toblerone
topped off by a crack'd pot daws
rigid khaki wrack stacks wobble precariously perched these jackdaws squawk and watch their stick burden cast away
down a crumbledown amblesided mountain
as if they were idle eagles
Under which roof a
little fat boy wants out

Cader Idris sizzles
protesting the right scree
flurries overlap
to reek havoc & rage & rumpus
prospect of an avalanche
confined to poxy screenplay
dross deemed unfit for family fun
sat cross legged zapping seagulls
winging blackbirds drives folks hopping mad
grinding anthracite briquettes 
coal shed solitary
modest refinement
converting them to coking coal
hatching audacious escape plans
sudden urge to defaecate
running out of temper
silence compromised by

Oh Calcutta coal shed…                                                                                                      Paradiddle raindrip on porchway
overflowing gutters—

an ardent dew fell overnight

Farley Hill rests in peace
The mossy pitch left to merge


Podeless in oblivion tis pureest natch dat travellers seeking succour find
’em has gorrabit of access to the mutternet if need be:
straw tenuous although that link may be.
thus a birra jigger-pokery is requiredto ob besties.
Second lockdown ja looks a cert.
I meekly flag up whysolation to The Big Surge?
Honesty is a policy best served coldy .
Sunny one out there.
Lads next door let of steam in the bobalink garden.
Here all is nessum dorma.
First smooth morning turdrum
Forged in loving memory
delivered with panache…
Wile chalking on the cobweb wall.

Windbags & Old Lags

Below a bleak zoo
on an inhibited earth
where a bawd of directors
calls the shots
where the whitehouse turns to sickhouse
and cottage hospitals to cheap hotels
Sent an encrypted message to Trudi
eavesdropped by earwigs
who hang fire on the scrupulous
order to make picture houses shut down
as the Chessington Hippos
wallow in deep pink shallows
eavesdropped also by earwigs
chomping shallow blue tomatoes

p…(Theseus’ speech in A Midsummer Night’s Dream)

Photo by Brady Knoll on

passing tethered bailiff
dissuades intruders growling
salient lurid schoolyard echo carries
red grass flair amuses rhubarb white fluttery
kitchen display zinc top snake sheds skin to scoff
aloof on golden mountain
rare garlic chive dressing under weigh

The Letter

Most excellent fellows, it
began in quill
ended in shocking pink
Cop this for a lark!
it went on
An unsettling new style
of composition
heavy with levity


beseiged by famine
forgave the greedy eyes
of old aquaintances
they had not long to go
Optic knew
this was no time for
compromise or pity
he pressed on to the fish shop
under mackerel skies
noticing the toothmarks

on the grassy knolls
Optic felt the tremble

of distant puffing guns
They were nothing but savages
Optic stopped to pick a lemon
for the vinaigrette
from the Colonel’s orchard
He had no need of them any more.

Penicillin Road

Photo by Artem Beliaikin on

Penicillin Road leads direct down cuts bores sheer faced defiles surges past boulders churns up dross meanders radical oxbow slides and haughty deft gallops sounding thunderous paces steadfast through otiose viscous varicose arteries drives insane veins through corny chicanes scorns resilient bunions & seedy jammy canyons cresting on horizon tendons defies confident ligaments cists shrapnel capillaries and fearful cataracts to the ulcerated sea off Old Toe Head which swathed in crinkly lint chinked modest amber sprouts bright by lunar astro-labelled lighthouse

Gumshoe sized hamstrung actors & two bit party players & an array of sundry stray intrusive otters snarl & bicker over muckbill platitudes to fodder fluster rashly squeezed bone girdled gossip mongers hawking meagre humble wares the morning after the dude who faked sincerity got shunned by indifference of all races, creeds and colons…

Lightspill occurred the back of four and happened just as Saul found out why the lucid coast of duvet moans in jest― Effluenza breeds Influenza. Who cares much these days is doomed
–Pass over that capsule and be an Angela, sweet thing.
Broken News Dawn Patrol announces…Broken windows of opportunity get given three thumbs up should Halloween come pass without further unsavoury rice eruptions. Second waves pronounced the new first moonshoot by turd party arsonists sampling tea leaves humping hope to an amen beat meanwhile the last chance balloon leaves come dawn on vernal equinox as ethics girls in AI gets bunk up from fretful plutocrats with more money than funny. Glass and concrete truth domes full of ratfinks. Peasant slaughtered by boy racer monarcho in Star & Garter Gigtrap. Town of Richmond mourns behind closed doors
Ten finger professionals occupy space set aside for cheetahs in transit. Stare out these days through shopfronts displayed on handheld flymo gizmos. All shapes and sizes filed under laudable applaudable. Feasible exercisers strain not yet no sinew. Spineless fatigue pandemic sighs. Vagrant anchovy the mule abjures. Profligate cartwheel takes rap for cold snap. Sidelined on the margin: peripheral.
If this is true~ What follows…Huh?
Well shod gunshot rider racer royally rides roughshod over outriderless enfeebled citizenry mowed down in broad daylight snobbery
Third June Thursdays don’t get much longer in the short run
Search engines rise with suns to take you down you guessed it:
Penicillin Road

The Shopping Forecast

Red berry cider and barbiturates
take me through the hours of darkness
shelling peas by moonlight,
harvested by these the very
hands that plucked them from the eiderdown yesterday
When I was kneehigh to a grasshopper.
After the triumph dispersed
tasked by the vocal authorities
with counting the torsos
of mutilated amazons

strewn across the coffee table
and stacking up
alphabetically by impure chance
ready for removal and despatch
to the far flung corners
of this expansive empire of dirt
‘Save them’
screaming from the chimpden.
Perry Coma did not show
Later we got the whisper
he’d scarpered with the tweed
to live the life of Reilly, Ace of Spies
in Bongo-Bongo Land
where mighty whities rule the roost
hidden in a hodful of porridge
under a suede pergola

Hushed up like a rat after
pissing on fresh linen
do-it yourself dentists
risk a sharp intake of plague spore air
instead of the cold spring waters
All in order to live
for fifteen days and to
regret it for an eternity
spent knitting in a holding pattern
over a smouldering pile
of troubled rubble

Dido & Aeneas Bust

…so they posted all marked
‘Return to Sunder’ and wiped up the wine
stains on the amphitheatre
Dumped the crap on the ancient garbage heap
festooned with the memory of abject voices
moaning on the tundra
A frail insouciance emerges while scrolling down for snippets
to tempt you into a look ma no hands
its me alone before a suspect device
that makes me feel
uncomfortable pouring out my soul
like this online bleeding
out in public on anonymous lockdown
streets in full view of the lonely
avenue where Junior Wells plays harp to passers
by who look up in curiosity only to
discover a chancer with delusions of grandeur
in a panama hat sucking toothless
gums for tasty titbits after an obstinate
chip of stale pitta induced spluttering and panic
before being washed down with a gulp
of cold Columbian coffee then a twinge
in the middle finger
whose name is forgotten
next to the index and ring
on the left hand so what is the right little sad
if nameless call it unknown soldier
close to one of two little piglets

What to play on a rainy day?
Indoor or outdoor games of the mind…

Scroodling Down to Rio

Long time was once spent looking back on I forget now if the bad big toe was just there and how could you know how so freely we openly slipped out for a clandestine puff as the lazy cardboard cut out armless guardians sloped off to languish in the gentle tonguing lassitude of comely liquorice eyes; and that is just one reason why it is sad to watch how the laborious wrecking crew drew such enormous scorn and derision from the current stoop of media rentier hackery; all you see is a black wooly hat that hides up patchy tousled illkempt thinning dreadlocks; but that guy sat out front for fifteen solid defying blatant barefaced drying wafts of CS gas in Plaistow, so merely recalling he who once stood on the lawn for two long years in no more than a mite’s parsec wrapped in the quiltyblur when the sun goes in is nothing short of parlous disregard…
‘Shut the fuck up Maxim’, the ex-army faceache exploded next door but one because a gundog went off in an off white vastibule for that is the momen when a marksman barks chill hors d’oeuvres; and there it was in a nutshell.
Flux # Four looming large on the riddled turnpike
And there was I minding my own half term spring bank holywell business following a tetchy break up with the zeitgeist snoozing and sulking, schmoozing the effete airwaves over roundabout brunch time feeling well short of chipper considering risking an impromptu outing to the gibbous moon retreat and recalling just how keenly direct sunlight soothes the crooked back of deviance through supersensitive cotton woolens; imagine nothing simultaneously but dimly aware that the phalange menagerie is running perilously low on critter comfort vittles and that I carry none about my person so can do nothing but dismiss it as a mere peccadillo and thus chimera; you may care to liken it to an open purse splayed out prone on a chinless whim inside methinks, or make an ocular or dental note on the way out will you luv?
Look see Bathsheba twitch!
A Birdbath water table runs low to parchment arid, its marooned lake isle consists of no more than an imprudent wood pigeon stool pile parked epicentral to the drumlin— just goes to show the extent to which stale shortbread affords a crypto-sinister challenge to a circumspect riot of cackling grackles: now try to press select fast forward on quicksilver messenger to gain access on scant jade highlights of dewdrop prism bluebells a’glisten in wild horse meadow about this time of the year in the mystic spring tra-la and you’ll get my drift…
Watch instead ascrimson tractors sculpt dark chocolate mudflats groovy & throwing in a swift neat buff & shine free gratis and thus costless, stand erect in awe of an elbow that greased a thousand pistons crawling at random over no man’s land crunching brittle bones and shell shock cases into a shambles long abandoned to ample trample on . Count up precious emboldened turdrums and spread forth largesse to multiply with yon weathered tarnished yard brush…people without the know speak gassy corpse mouthed cliche guff & boffin jargonisms when confronted with these absolutes; proffer we no more than mere maple staples for the cowbirds to frown and humbug on and over; getting here slowly but by but what heft; one phase drags on nigh on forever — red books, green books, blue books, jumpy weavers work from home; using up all the words in the program including arabic symbols and synaptic tooth gaps; load up a random rustic mudsling meant to do good for aforesaid head, blinking improves the pecks and posture clefts in order to reboot and sock
Launched ‘Cibernautica’ on a supersensitive public via a superstitious republican to pause peruse at enforced free leisure or to thumb through Al Dante & Raoul Vaneigen for subversive sugar high kicks; twenty to five and so am I banished, famished or vanished, mein hairdo? Vamoussed
Should we bathe our feet or bury the dead? Why not first repoint the house with marzipan & sprinkle afterwards in a waywardwotsit more twinkling debris? Settle you down nice for the night of a hundred thousand stars. See how Ariel was only too glad he had kept his nebulous poems well out of heedless sight.
Forgotten filleted fragments of a recumbent monkey got wrenched out kicking and screaming to demand release from further alptraums & agonised imaginings sustained by grief fetishism and pain habitats left hanging round waiting to be strafed and milled by anxious stingy yearnings (yawn less often and mark well each of you the scarce spontaneity remains of what you drag down from vibrant air to groggy meagre earth). The survivals time is not worth going into now in case the dormant migraine flares up at something seen more than understood. A familiar calypso for example niggling away at understated subtle nuanced resonant grievances like that of a well trod path best avoided.
Other makings of the homespun sun were animal waste and goosebump welterwort And it was there in ancient rhymes the ripe shrubs robust writhed and humped. His self and the sun were become one And his atrocious ill kempt pomes, remakings of his selfsame, were no doing of the suncream. It was not important that they should survive epoxy resins. What mattered was that they should bear the thought of comforting lineament for a character of the golden age. Some degree of affluence was missable, if only half-perceived, dwells it aplenty in the poverty of their eyes, and thus of the planet of which they were once apart.
Wallace Beery’s Boozy Babes were also apart. Up to take a piss and anoint wild wounds thrice tinyly in the night and by fluke of hammerhead encountered AN Wilson on the picture box talking TS Eliot in stately homo rooms and after swords outside for mincing crisply round revered ancestral piles disguised like a got up belle epoque nihilist in a foppish gauche inky purple beret-berry and authentic pro situ shadesuthant, an emaciated highbrow eyebrow peruses the vernal slums of Little Giddington. Most effing edifying. Went back to bed unaltered stateless and thrashed chaff til dawn till is that Humpty Dumpty called me to ask if I knew what a demi-rhapsode is. Didn’t remember and mumbled harpslime and dulcimer soup before bidding a fond farewishwell with a loving poke of my popsicle thyrsis. Therefore inafter it came as no shock to find out three have quit the tory story at Chez Vertigo in a spat over the ongoing Bauxite impasse.
Painted naffly six blooming daffs stuffed in a dirty glass of gripe water as a epop eyed mean old man preps hen with lemon, garlic , olive oil etc in the galley…editing’s a task for smart alexas who lost badly playing abject chess after encounter distracted by flaming marsupials , seven deadly dins ensued and we conquered the jacket spuds were ready, after tucking into chicken eucalyptus marmalade, got a fit of the scribbles, dashed two posts off, a mediocre potpourri of pretty picks?
Left bereft past caring either way, just pleased to have broken the bad spell (two years!…and the rest old chum!!) bloody narks, no resistance to wonga means bad scripture class. Still the chicken sufficed– avocados grapes. TUC cheesy wafers, sauces hot and mild yet something is missing, the heirophant has left the room for outer space of a nope name journal for a kickabout, a dribble, a rehearsal of dead ball situations, how to negotiate wonky roundabouts, or reveal a shuttlecock on a driven pile, turning on its own for spite– consider these deserted playgrounds, clear of fag ends, coke tins, sweet rappers, impromptu barbershop quartets, short and curlies soaked in wet rubber diapers, abandoned polio kids on grotesque dazzle stilts, go not down to babbling brook, them microfish got teeth effendi. Look on instead with absorbent gaze as a cloud scuds over a field of maize and get it down quick before it evaporates

The sundown spoof unravels; bad workmanship made odds fave to blame; twentyone indies and counting now sat on the whiggish rump thus May heads off defeat by nine; out of the country by the time the shit hits perhaps? The F-Bomb calls between innings in a keenly ignored one day drag; what was that oozing the base of the doors–it hurts to hear; cubist daffs attract blue lines from an Umpire of the slum in Windsor on a downtown Sunday morning crawling past in lice bejewelled vermin crusted watching ermine embedded on parade while down the food bank the Duchess of Dank squats dribbling on her chiffon sushi recovered from a regency grundon on a car battery UXB coins a ticking on the porch. Won the race for time to cook sausages before the thing goes pfoof. Phew! the relief of it all. The sausages are fine now with all nerves shredded. And all of this accomplished while bathing ulcers in antiseptic teatree sap.
Sun out! Daffs citric yellow…hoover roars, rump of day trundles into action. Read Canto III of Dante’s Divine Epic. Virgil waiting in the wings: that Beatrice doesn’t half go on at times…
Holy toe attended to; navy dressing gown spawns brand new micro climate: ‘Tis my condition’, I enlighten dumbstucco onlooks only to receive hoots of derision from the tawdry old owls
Money! low on blow…’Jones Rocks Up’ (working title minus work); The Bard of Staple Hill took ill & asked for a replacement. right place at the right time no worries guaranteed. timing is everything temporal (quite a lot). Ups & Downs of Marasmus Snr: a world of woe and baskets;shoot before you leave…
Zoom! Hall door wiped Zoom!! Sat out, read about retroflection, dranks two coffees Zoom!!! Wiped the hall door passably Zoom wrote this, Off…
Zoom! Could not relent Zoom!! Mantelpiece, lampblack fireguard, abandoned hearth, cheap shit sideboard, tat clock. perspex crucifix, chic curved staplers, shillelagh obelisk, Grand Central Station carpet remnant— all wiped most perfunctorily Zoom!!! Emptied an ashtray for absent fiends
Mist greets dawn in a blissful haze, cleaned up medication corner bags, three hours soft labour; petroleum spray renders me inflammable; upstairs for a smoke break found magic red paste! toe cavity insulation after douche; mad Dan Walker commands the USAF to celebrate ten deaths. Dust rules KO…
covered up the chasm with red magic & kitchen towel cones, wrapped it in white stocking and hid it in a slipper, recommenced the purge Zoom! Thai nightlight jigsaw washed and left to drain, swept up dead cypress fronds and chestnut oak leaves, drank coffee. sun is out now i shall follow proundly thru the front portal to do…nowt for an hour
Made it here at last, had to come up to change from last week’s clothes water horse and washboard, y- faced spruce up a bit especially after yesterday and the sore toe and the fear of fallow wormwood. Still never mind I’m here now, ready for decoding Nefertiti
the big white house in the woods on the hill cropped up while talking with The Man about hedgehogs. he showed me some amazing footage of him being approached while walking the dor round the corner at five to six in the morning– well what i made of that was hunger after the cold snap wiped out the local edelweiss, a endangered species round here for donkey’s years, I’m told.
Who was it had a deaf labrador called Sniff, the big White house on the hill in the woods?
‘Hardboard, hardboard hardboard is all I hear morning noon and night, from dawn to dusk, twenty seven eleven and all the days between accepting Christmas when we talk turkey and very little else comes round from the dwarf house to share a cracker and exchange pernicious glances…’
That was what I pretended the Nun next door to the big white house next door talked like. She was a friend of my mum who used to service the House and drag me with her. She had three sons from a devious relationship and the youngest, Dave, was foisted on me for dull company and secret policing, he knew of my growing reputation as a cat burglar.
one grey morning in winter i was sat in the big white house on the hill in the woods, i was on a giant chair staring through the wide bay windows, across the flagstones and down to the empty swimming pool, unused for years and covered in slime and frogs, when Jim Morrison stepped out dipped in black ink and smiled laconically before walking off. this really happened. like everything it was a trick of the light. Not really what i meant but got it down
put in meat to heat took seat and when sat fancy that an acrobat lurks in a daffodil shadow dancer going good to soft throwaway evens odds
chance encounter with Basingstoke AFC Nineteen Fifty Two raw recruits and wartimers national service local plod all knew PC Arlott seconded to The Cricketers for sinful skinfuls and goodfellow banter, rowdy bar brawls ten a penny, Sunday church to act repentant sinner hairshirt of dog bolts sunday dinner have a cardiac snooze eat tinned salmon dainties round on Aunt Chutney with not long to go and good bit put away besides
just want to get on get ahead get somewhere in life just want to see the world have a place in France somewhere to get away to in life just want to slip away end of May on a merry dance somewhere in life
ice breaks waters waters flow its not how you want or who you like that matters
gilded lilies and scrumbled yawns, linctus armchairs, hair stuffed lawns, extensive dawn gets up to greet you
mr interrupter butted in to disapprove after pondering at length the prose of cheese
leave the rest of that lethal stick where it belongs and go and grab some rays i dare I fear i’ll lose it on the stair i’ll tarry here a while with this stone head
go lose a game of chess at least…
But now i won and i am 1182 all out and day crumbles into evening and Wales beat england at big bear hugs and…caught the sun and dropped it in a jiffy bag; should be something else somehow, what with all this good weather, but no, day has come and gone, cruise controlled, bumbling, wary, awkward to chance encounter, out of practise man you don’t hardly ever meet no one around
fingers feeling better, gaining a typing rhythm, away…
long passages involve more breatheRS room to manoeuvre uber…
BIG TRail showing first thing starred Rebecca Kelly & big leggy romancing the go west old fart gin lane settlers raoul walsh 1931; injun troubles stirred up by cartoon lowbrow mob, sharp shooting black hats bite dead sussed, played by Tyrone Power Snr, shot by toothless oldtimer pioneer, role model for Walter Houston and the toothless cook in Red River played by Norman Gunston; chopping down cardboard redwoods not so noble now, cellophane sequoia and backlot Cheyenne in pure ethyl ignorance- Oregon Trailer Trash role models, How the West was Grunge…
half moon slipped nowhere into dawn lurking up there somewhere smirking
open windows, ate ultra healthy option finnfest granola yogurt honey, too a bomber and its attendant tiddlers, had a fizzy after slippery dung obnoxed wet room stale nightshift heat, up here socked heavy, aint doing leaves too wet Luther; Manny and Stotty coiffure the larch, attach to birdsheds can’t remember exactly when but hazard a guess at Tuesday last; obligatory post in new second hand coat; off to catch some rays methinks…
Sort of did but watercolour got me going. Monday no milk outrage — why came he not in the middle of the night?
swept another layer of winter dross off of the path– big women drop off offspring (not so busy these days, has the boom wave ebbed, austerity nibbled into a secret cheese, housing, moving up the greasy ladder, can’t get the staff these days, working from home, something in the water…listless emd ifs and buts, drawing no conclusion, longitudinal approach comes highly recommended at the committee stage, truth is fresh out of green paper, firm downsized to eco wrappers for half digested biscuits stood at bus queues waiting for the moon; nippy out big warm coat and wooly noddy hat fit for the part of disabled resident doing his bit for order banjaxed as to do what next as per distant aria laments radical veruca be yourself ate scrofula scapula took umbrage always trouble brewing after that from one day forth and so on feuds and scraps of silver tassies glinting angels on hogs back tumuli litter levelled playing fields battlegrounds and dinnerbelles a terrible hiding is sustained bang out of order was it playing catch up petulant outburst quick to it learnt or got jury never came back most plumped learnt i guess prejudice mind nagging doubt remains genome keeps time makes spots on cows look random not said turing at some stage of plausible imaginings in a strange tongue space state algebra boole’s logic bomblast the door off whoops a daisy unforeseen consequences of blind man’s buff masquerading as venetian blind venetian to fine one eyed kings in cubby holes drinking lemon tea & woe betide woe be gone go pester schwester for a bung
Quiet hour feeling radio off crisp cold draft blows sharp through prized prism window stuck with it mind did not relent as i pass by after 2013 autumn notes depressed me on the bog frosted angels snow mountain folk sleep deep down silver mines alarmed that karma ate dogma impelled a hard act to swallow wolf down relish chew over ruminate mull gull suck luck lick sick cardinal son:
Wireless off, TV off, just you and me kidder, what’s happening?
fairy lights on glass amphora, orange brown ambience, curtains drawn, still night just morning, not me again all day, when sun gets up i will out and scumble in the hinterland, immortalising stones and truncated oaks, waxy laurel, jagged grasses, bones of budding shrubbery in bowlers and grey gabardine four endomorphs arrive with the box us two are six two they average five ten, a visible tilt to the mourning crowd, we agree to bend at the knee, how silly sod frost malingers clear night snap daffs likes twiglets camera zooms whirrs clicks caught it on my mobile:
where now mein herring?
A partridge & a pugnacious loafer follow an overdue shower; slick partridge explores seamless levels interwoven house trained psychopups toilet gagging mime till all breaks down in mute nostril armchair agony of handwash maitlis encountering ineffable twat in a see through elevator who penless begs right on question love me BBC ( A cock up and a bully yarn punctured slapstick nightmare real time mock up mirror scene in Kane infinity of urinals, twisted flaw unravels silk, deaf as a psst subbies on for prompt stir coffee with avocado spoon think dickhead dance a dawdle brain hair down light rain falls on burner lid; little pots on ramp brick wall) up here again for fusillade of flux end of…camera on regards surrounds as if handheld on to of neck: fulsome daffs, cardboard bluebirds, shut the window, heater up to 22, freshly out nasty chills forewarned, whole avocado I’ll have you know– Anavocado, Anavocado.
borderline hour ten eleven will he show or will he no? No need to call time in world of chill out now the cat is out out bag and sitting up now, unlocked by cramps, tingly arm pressed tight to sidewall, marching on toward, leant forward look toward, head start in the mildewed wilderness, hunter & hunted merge, prey & predated heavily sedated, hare coursing mad as march mains; winds due at noon, over ripe walnuts, loss of loose water, leaky tubes cost lives, wind & wuthering taking tolls, Wallace Greenslade headbuts Eccles, suedehead upmarket dinner jacket arsehole, smoked a pipe like uncle arsehole, cravatted gaucho on an alfalfa romeo wishlist semi green with ivy
nor not as we thought we knew it, neither…the syruppy voice trails off to grotesque gurgle, anticlockwise yokel slips down the sinkhole, a bullfrog in the throat of rubric u bend, caustic sod all to say to each other anyway these days, lighten up it would if you did you nasal hair, slimy lamprey hidaway conceals enfant terrible, shallowly musing under a clarinet rainbow, no coffee left only bloody tea bags; things to try us sent in spades, spades to fashion open sunlit caverns.
If not what? look up…no joy. How long will we wait? Hill and Valley, the Radio Doctor and Naughty Rudi Bown at the Old Bullshit and Bushmills–everso smart as ants in pants, warriors both off course. Then Boom. Woke up covered in pasta! Pressure cooker popped big time. Bit more than a pop you think. Time for sure will tell if you persist. Keep quorn and carry awn. Spring 1945 and all that jizz. No bloody teabags, only empties. Can’t get the staff upright. The others are in a sick bay shirking. Make do and mend then. Make do and bloody mend again. Make do and bloody mend the only game in toon
Breaking news of the departure of the Chief at Rio tinto rent the autumn night. I turn up the heat, make a cup of tea. observe the aching foot and fetch the morphine. It is coming up to two am. A scoop before sleep is permissible. Tomorrow I will buy fresh batteries for the Thunderball. That is my sole task beyond shielding and convalescence. A spot of gardening would be good, but is not a must. So chill and kill the pain and write in peace it is.
Lockdown prom of Beethoven’s 7th occupied the evening spoonful time as the meal got made. Salmon and Salad. It is just gone two at night, the vapes are fully fuelled and the World Wise Service fills the hairy airwaves. Microsoft Central claims it has candycrushed a Russian attack on the US selections.

Just Sigh

casters of the evil eye
Watched on in awe as
Funstick McCraw performed
household chores
Licking floors
Opening doors
Observe three jackdaws
dropping peanuts
Down disused chimney pots
‘I’ll put your head in a box full of frogs ’
Mistah Macawber said
Recall the vernal equinox
All you want is hidden there
casters of the evil eye…
Just sigh
Just sigh

St Within cherishes rainy days as so many ready made excuses
to avoid demanding chores that lurk in the soggy world out there.
Looking out on a rainy day as sweet chill air rolls in
Wide open window admitting sound of water
Thud of splash on nettle;
rustlings hid under the undergrowth;
blackbird tweets and car doors percuss.
Wet days recalled holed up in a vellum sprite
Cheap drains spewing rainjuice
Psyche found thrumming on the cheap tin roof.

Plans jottings quips amount to owt…
rain she surges in the west,
Sniffs palm oil tankers torched in the gulf of Oman
Lar committed to who knows what cause or other.
Beers and bed . Terry robbed. Midsummer 2019.
Toerag blues play out.
Regrettably like Sundays
Just Sigh
Just Sigh

Call Doc & the Medics to say the cavalry is coming
Hit me with a feather Mistah Merryweather
Tickle some hidden fancy


Photo by Jayant Kulkarni on

Slept too long and late it seems
awoke in plague dry springtime
when it dawned on me
it was sleek midwinter
a white island volcano clears its throat
in ducal disapproval
at such ignorance in Plenty Bay
and sends five hikers to their eternal reward
they perished on the non event horizon
for all black holes must eat eachother in the end
no doubt a pompous rumpus will ensue
in the Parlyhouse on the way back down
is this the best that can be done before
a cruel soul sacrifice is ordered?


Watch out scarecrows
silhouette and long shadow
Golgotha sunrise:
a frequent earworm
reoccurs at whim

Is your ending really a beginning ?
For how could it not be so-

oh and by the way –
How’s that old doggo dada of yorn?

Dead as dorsel dogmeat afeared
Licking up spillaged goosefat
pulverised by muskrat finches
under true blue weathervanes

How’s mine own one going, Missy?

Would she a quiet one
Self harming cross legged in a corner pulling
on a subconcious purple woodbine ?

Yes. Same as it ever was
Smoking woodies burnt out on angstrom,
stool pigeon chested sorbing robust summer sun,
sporting short sleeved pastel blouse open to the breeze,
taken to walking in staccato stumble on feet buggered by servile drudgery, thinking what god knew once upon a time before the flood…

Buddha-like inscrutable some say round here
though harrowed head of blinding anguish
Marinated in dubious sun wonky dreams have took a toll

Suchlike stuff filled Leaf’s priapic sleepshot numbskull & starcrossed marrow bones while he
creeping slowly through her steep sunken garden that late Good Friday afternoon, chanted
‘Was Erin with auric brass neck & hardball shoulderpads watched through sharkfest eyes bloodshot after a catch-up daytime nap from a bad night twice remembered?
Was it panic that kept her up three days killing time with gimmicky zombie horror flix, relishing the dripping of copious rot from pellurid
cartoon blood oozing from every single pixel,
Was it sudden came the quick denouement part made aware of skull cap thinning like a wildly, itchy unkempt beard of cheesewire — a wretched sight altogether to behold, Lucertia.’

Leaf sat now facing late low sun, watching jet streams & midges merge, counting teatime birds play come and go, stopping
to perch for a last feed on the sickly rowanberry, then head in head, out of the cold’s way, when evening nests smell of deep fat friars,

Leaf too went back indoors to see what was going down
David Dixon was last seen dead by a man in a Homburg;
Mason Wells survived his third suicide bombing — random business this life.

What with populations swarming here there and everywhere. No wonder such a radical flux breeds weird shit algorithms, recounting how brown blobs pop on white cows…

‘Go get the washing in! You idler!’

Time bumbles lopsidedly
Westward murk rays prolong shade
Pull the blinds closer to home
Call it a day…


Lit up a jasmine joss stick 
Debussy string quartet plays Cluedo 
Turn down horny thermostat 
Open fan widows 
Wine dark dawn begets 
Clear up blue canopy 
Ought one
 talk or not to talk to 
Fiends & creditors 

Made in Heaven

The Dog goes to the old country as the old country goes to the dog

Swifts snatch sleep on camels armed to the teeth with lifelong bags

Something fungal diffuses the rotten air hanging on the wind

Who is Julia?

The meeting of the legspurts went swimmingly and crucial decisions for the next fortnight were agreed,
prescriptions were exhanged fully aware that it was a chance to check out whose who at Newbury Zoo

Loops and Bubbles mingle round the burning monk poffering fresh faggots to kill the time between
events in need of management: to err on the side of caution and riddle the fire with care.

We agree the rules of engagement for long time ahead encounters for ‘I am not Daniel fucking Blake
or Guy the bleedin’ Gorilla. Scripts changed hands in blind faith and we parted on good squirms.

Stricken while the summer quells the rabble with crowdless spectacles and canned hubbub. Dicing
with disaster down the monkey menders. Snakes eyes in a sterile mask runs the flicker show.

Two seals on a dragon trend on suspect media. Strange news from another star. Spouts a humane policy
:count you fingers first. Jaded by disfigurement we plough the short and narrow.

Have they got the urn yet? Couple of shovels of ash and bone tasteful in majolica. Not a municipal jar
Spilt in the boot of the car. Shunted by the masked mammy on the school run.

Mystic Pleated Twine

Part two of July coming soon
To a lockdown pleasure centre in your dreams
Ordered to the masquerade by sage supremacists
Three layers of matter impede chatter
when worn to quell the invisible miasma
Want a ride home in my gondola bright eyes?
Switch on the subtitles it’s in foreign
Rhubarb Rhubarb Rhubard Rhu…
Only One Remote Control
Shared between self isolators
Bound to cause friction in the long run
When everyone’s a mugger or a letterbox

In it to Bin it

In and out like a fiddler’s elbow
Clodhoppers kept on just in case
Susan Heyward smokes a Camel from Dana Andrews
in the days before Jimmy Dean
Short story by Salinger
in the days before Catcher
off with the NHS Clodhoppers
rest up the extremes before the change

A Tale of Two Drips
running down a window pane
How I lost a shirt

extraordinary ebullience breathing toxic air once in a blue moon
peeping down I out fertile earth as joyless mundanity

dearth penalty

Twas a sunny funferal,

down the municipal crem
weep your distance at all times

time passes, state radio time, silver screen time, me tonto time, rockin horse time, inbetween days time, time after time out, timeless trips to slumber time, lifetimes and sometimes, time well wasted elsewhere, time spent less productively, no time beyond time itself, end of time, time immemorial, time out, time up, timed out…bit of a baked potato time, invisible wind blows, time pissed and time pewter…

Wasps nest in the brickwork housed behind the suspect sea of nettles
hides in lockdown under the auspices of thriving Jacoranda
The summer rains are set for the artificial test match
Time for old gits to argue over shit and twigs.
Prime Monster’s Hour Approaches
Peep spectres from the inside of a doughnut
insist on right on bluesky thinking over great balls afire–
straight thinking makes immediate connections

Darker evenings in the wet imitate November
if you’re lucky with the weather
play must be abandoned surely
Xavier has cried off poorly
Wasps multiply at leisure

Creepy crawly gas board
selling door to door
removed the offending tube of stuff
inpinging of my needle wound
two cheroots takes its toll
messing with my head

Spoonful, loving spoonful tells me
let the fresh air flow
anaesthetize the stingers
exposing jawbones of contention
piled up outside the door
ready for disposal by the authorities

Back we go to 2002
in only three months
of inactivity.
ran fast to keep up

Found the wasp factory absorbed by Netflix
Weatherwise a goddam ugly gray
Practised the sober art of restraint
Giggling at Scarface
Sporting Clodhoppers on and off
Normal people just wear footwear
as they go about their day
I am unreliably informed
by the Soggy Bottom Boys
Brian de Palma and the Coen Bros
don’t turn up your nose at those
guys who know their business
Two hours pass unstably after the cheroot
Naggingly concerned at making no effort
to fill the world with more of vogon woe
David Mitchell irked me talking up
all lived through experience like grist
to the mill of the creative artist. He was
punting his latest title about rock musicians
with a catchy title that i have spilt at long off
Too wrapped up in disgust and despair. First
Brexit then Boris and now the plague and
a gammy leg. Must try to get out for a nose
about. Take a spin one evening for a run
in the country. Get away from the wasps and
nettles; the ghosts and kettles; the pavlovian life
of the house trained nutter. A return to the world
is a widespread problem nowadays. Not the exclusive
domain of the broken and wounded. The underclass
is swelling. This next wave is a wipe out.
Ovid relished a catastrophe
with a capital sea
Bollocks freezing off
sat up asleep guarding a marina adrift on regurgitated martini
spreading out between an outstretched quay of denim legs
a little bite on the inner forearm
a smell of bacon frazzling in a slipper
historical glimpses into the now
impersonal recollections concerning
the economics of cooking cheese on crackers
little grievances and niggles reveal
what a drag we are become so

The biobubble Test match bugler takes a break
from barmy army duty
to tame once wild undergrowth
to read the newspaper online
between heavenly grey spasms
splash on empty seats

when the ill winds drop, sun breaks through the umpteenth time, the Windies build up a healthy lead. Considerable if still there at stumps
The soundtrack of summer
minus the old ones in the long room

Green tea and a change of strides to tasteful deckchair stripey; the makings of a supper; bake off half-baked sticks; chop some jungle tom-toms;
tins of odds and sods;
packet of ham in date;
ready salted crisps; or nothing till morn

Clear blue still summer morn; bread and butter night of many weewees;
an early morning vaper catches the dump train before a feed of comely opiates;
turned off the Sat Morn Media News and Ents for the entitled;
sun streams in unhampered by nettlebed and wasp factor;
entertain the needy when the tasks are done and the post is passed; nosey passives fo feed elsewhere; in it to bin it…

Life’s Brittle (Ups & Downs)

June was a killer
already my life was
hanging by a thread
then the rains came
dissolving broken skin
blistering and swelling
infecting each nook and cranny
each crook and nanny
irresistible bon mots
run in the blood

Snagg & Pickles

Summer in One Room

What gives with the sea of nettles growing up the windows? Loudly came no stern riposte.

You tell me what you often eat and I will tell you what you often are. Indeed. A bacon and egg primate, a rich tea biscuit and two squares of comely chocolate.

Unveiled a fiend incarnate; soused in pink paraffin; creaking in forked tongues; fire flamed by glow worm; intent on rapture capture; sound balloonist waves; little dots keen on plunder; scared by squads of silverfish; delicate little flower; powered solely by cheesecloth; thrilled by sturdy necklocks;

Sore toes destroy jjuicy insouciance like rabid tigers gnawing on a pariah; all hell broke loose in Hades while we simpered in the abbey ruins prisoner baiting and people hating

Pure as the driven crow determined to improve on jet glossed plumage

For fire burns in this hearth since the old king shuffled off

Ivory shoulder: dead giveaway; elephant man

Consider the indifference of existence with a passion over easy

Reap harm and carry on

Your only as good as your last treble Lutz

Night fell like a modest incline

She walks in beauty Tuesdays, Thursdays, and, if its nice out, Saturday afternoons.

Today it will be thirty degrees centigrade and I have blisters fit to burst already my life

Winceyette pyjamas it sure am not…

Telegram Spam

As I sit here…watching God’s daughter on the run for crimes against the faith time seres to fine powder revealing mirrors

Fingers von Raab unfit for purpose; rain stopped plague of damp umbrellas coughing and splashing; raindrops keep falling on my herd; Liff of Pooh replaces Brand New Testament on the pixie box;

Thatcham cancelled on grounds of good taste and flash flooding

Just gone eleven and quite unwell; blood tomorrow; lost a game of chess to a higher number; Mattys app is useless crap Vera leaves the stage; kiss of death from Major Tom

Slept heavy after narco-meatballs; rested down the leg; woe at six for Vera has gone viral; seems like it rained; fade to sunny evening

Up to my neck in silence by six forty glibly reading diverted traffic passing by in in groups. Are they all from the same household and what if I asked how I asked? They ignored me. Now that wasn’t so bad was it one to try yourself next time you go out alone. Rolling home full of beer and gusto Energised by revelry. Rowdies in the night…exchanging glances.


‘Half tidy’

Walking on by then listening out hard for snide backbites,

Amazon shitting me like charlatans; bots that bleed you dry; blood given to the demigods of Frimley & beyond; rainy season sets in for the day. Angel Clare, what a moniker! Too good to be true all right. Please beware the drowsy mastiff in your midst. All is food and air it seems

A viaduct of steamy dreams passes slowly by. An ideal retirement meandering the rejuventated arteries of mercantilism.

Weeping legs tell no lies

Waiting in a waiting loop. Tempers fray spirits droop relieved to hear a cybervoice. Can I help you? Aint that nice,

Footie reruns as a squall approaches, demon spleen & plaid cockroaches

Mid June afternoons never cease to disappoint

Ten milligrams by tiffin. Whose a pretty boy then?

Just what springs to mind when emptying fingers

Written off from posterity. How are the flighty fallen?

Suspect Aspidistra (the full nine minutes…)

Tintin Quarantino quit the bowers for higher ground when the flowers of romance exploded into a festival of the oppressed

Seeds of fear aroused by MRI scans. Blood test in Basingstoke was for renal function, Speak to your GP for laughs.

Made it through the night again. Shall we meet outside Café de La Mairie or behind the tin roof bike shed. Declasse fields grow strange fruit.

Memories are short like fat hairy legs in socks and sandals queuing up for a berth on a Ghost Ship

Sun comes round to warm the lawn— so soon it must be noon,

In the meantime eat last night’s savoury titbits on a rugged slice of white cob..,fuel to feed the fire.

Call up medics under grey skies– Carpe Diem and all that jazz. Café au Lait, Monsieur?

A Garcon enquires from a safe distance. Tintin nods assent, and leaning back blows a bubble of pink chewing gum.

Shimmering figures of giggling mannequins pass in designer shades.

Scamper down boulevard of rancid dreams in a toadstool kerchief,

Obliterate a canopy of fetid screeds singing a shallow blues,

Well if it aint that funny little cough again, a prelude to a sombre snooze?

Soft and silly sacerdotage mumbles contain obscenities from the beneath a suspect aspidistra





Drab plague day grows sunny round three,
wound change ritual proves to be a long drawn out affair
similar to the endless round of faceless medics and their myrmidons
that brandish big syringes for effect...
AJP Taylor talks Hitler porn in a a lopsided spotted bow tie and parades an encyclopedic grasp of his brief
Perhaps a history course to while away the downtime?
The Origin of the Specious
Perry Coma seen thru a losers eyes
peddling jalop without the oligarch's nod
holding bizarre opinions of the truth
honour bound to bear sombre witnesss
to the heavy tread of a discerning public
who favour coke to sepsis...

Surrealistic Billow

Miles of Smiles



On a happy note

Crazy Theolonius

Blue September Hills

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Confessions of a Handyman

1000x2000 (4)



Just seems shameful like
I tried and fooled about with art
for the best part of a golden era
& give or take a mock heroic epic or two
but as the epoch crumbled
I took fright, stepped back &
stole away in search of anonymity

How I nimbly skipped on past tackles
sidestepping young bucks trip wires

and scented mantraps
playing the tough guy with no future
dismissive of  the tedious now

time spent wild carding subdued by booze
short changing a second hand self

umbrella firms of ill wind repute
tried to memorize each one in order
before sidling up for the holy drop for elevenses
But I stopped it and plunged head last
into a teeming bramble wilderness,
inhabited by malicious stingers
vindictive vicious barbs.
Cold vaincautious glances exchanged
when eye contact was declined

went walkabout in phantom seas
fad spiralling stoned dizzy alice selfies
smugly looking down on
while smiley vultures congregate below
soon to part at the pace of Ra
before I again plummet
bumping into roaming spheres
the forgotten fear of falling
came back with a vengeance

pulling out now is no easy ride
boiling hot flesh pies mel
under withered skin
long lost conchshells
appear round the bend
rockaby baby spotted snugly safe
under silky green lush green canapace

For It had beeen slow to warm of late
outswung hanging at the end of a rope
ghoulish freeze framed close up grimace
accompanies a bleary blank stare
passing blurred spectators showing off
discounted marbles queegly in a flurry
of majestic kilts spun while spooning
honeys most generous on steaming farls,

So fell I into nanocoma and emerged from it a lost cinque port
Kent became my oyster. It could have been all the world to me…

In the beginning was the end and that is the long and the short of it.
One finds out sooner or later Walking on mirrors is not all its crack’d up to be
Call me Omeletto: Anything but Egg ; Housebreaker Bong-Daly
toed the party line without spoiling her nail varnish. Like Beryl Reid
said, it was all about the shoes, which in her nasal snob spoof voice
came over as ‘Shooze’. Why bitch? We’re all just as bad as one another.
Everyone dies ugly.

The swings and roundaboutsm, the ups and downs, the ins and outs, the snakey ladders parading past in viscous toffee cream nylons, recall that wretched sound of a rasping fingernail on plywood. Feverish and seeing things, brain baked dry by sandfly fires.
What happpens net if i drink that orange squash i puked back up in the tumber?
Could have guessed I suppose. Be grown up grab the first thing that comes to hand and cover it up. A precocious uptaker of bad examples, trialing and erring on good for sport.
Embedded dried pea up the nose;
head lost in the clouds; flying twice nightly lightly

All left up in the air, keep the company of freebirds and faulty
military hardware, fearful of flying saucers egged on by cups and spoons…

State of the Union: Distressed




we all feel down in bad weather
stuck indoors counting blessings
declavring war on last nights washing up
weighing up plusses and minuses
of invisibility and amnesia

bad servant memory skives off
feast days and bank holidays
taking bloody liberties
with the milk of mutant kindness
constrained by clamour
in the pantry garden

the camera never cries
the piecrust never seeped
gravy when you blew it
encouraging the meatball
to make a run for it

The Meagre Benison of Tired Starlings




May rains hail and thunder
all-in-one morning tucked up
Sophia fetches balm for the bundle
Observing unusual proprieties
following hors d’oeuvres
keep the kettle boiling
the nettle coiling
the aspidistra flying
keep the company of doves
brawling in the fountain
over scarce fuck all
intended for the starlings…




Aunty Mare and sombre Sky observe
the proprieties at all times
Beyond the me the other hard to pick out
through the wrong end of a spyglass darkly
Ye Gobs! When frisbees roamed the earth
and all the bus tops green canopy
Millicent and Marty sought cover
from true blue meanies
Conceived after bathing at Baxters
glaze your arses and shield you gonads
to bless the pointless little head of Sprog
of Sprog Coriolanuswnd wash him well

The Little Bird Trolled




Remember reading the Unnameable in identical weather this time last year and the one before.
Same house different room this time. The old lady oppostite was alive last year. Now her stuff is in a skip on the drive.
Saw it from the room I mentioned earlier
History has been made all right. The ulcer was smaller then.
Did a bit out in the sacred garden. Even got out from time to time. Down the pub. Never say Die. Plucky old bird.
Way beyond that now. Place going downhill fast. That leaky lean to aint got long by the llo of it. Much water under the defrosted fridge
Few people call in to pick. The Virus you know…Plus sans change.

Not Grafton St and Cary Grant again I ask you! Back in the day they would neer hae dared to.
When men were men and women were afraid. There are a few more stiffs hanging round tonight
fly dumped on the sub-toxic lawns
Where cats hae spat the rats hae shat the remains of the dubious quorn
And and and what? Gimme a moment Monkey Face. Cary puttles the kettle on.
Christian gets blinded following science and arrives at Vanity Fair. Merciful heavens Collapse
‘Now who left the sky open, on a market day

Still sloobing aroound in housecoat and slippers properly let themsells go;
stale fags and rotten carpets
The place was crawling with americans unknown on facebook
settling old scores with paramours
proscribing all transgressions
born of a Badland
A feud that threatened to spill over and consume the world
supply of oxygen and intolerance.

Dialogue’s a bugger to write when the voices talk at the same time.
One takes short cuts like making most
of it up. Usually sounds better that way.
They bolted at his every word
What are they saying over there by the elephant’s foot?
How big elephants must be?
More like it really…
Benedict’s a scream when you get to know him
But he can be so…abrasive
His old girl came from there
Shows in the wash
True. So true

Ransack & Plunder…(Cry me a Zither)




away from the unhappiness
contest after losing the plot
mapping out cities razed of people
sequin-cloaked in the steady opulence
of Sunday a teatime chastising errant aphids.
euthanasia for the financially challenged
a small amontillado
a bout of imbecility
during a toccata & fugue
at a recital down the orangerie
a Flower sat down to take stock
a surefire cure for insomnia
she dreamt that as she slept off the trance.

But how could this be so?
Without him there was no world to speak of
he would not be there to overlook.

He turns the radio back on and settles
down to the sound of meteorites
raining on the corrugated roof of the temenos.

The world was waking up
from its ransack

Insurrection Blues (Guess we have no Therl Baps Monsieur)


jaw jut

…the third day was by far the worst
our enemy the clement weather

as ever
said weather soon aligned itself to passive lamentation
and gentled us with suspect serenades

An inaudible gasp oft precedes the sacrificial therl baps
wherein a sharp intake of breath soon follows
Just try to imagine the look on his face
at the shock that overcame her self
when with numbers crunched up the gravel stairwell
and found us broken up like aggregate

Very like a legion jackboots stamping down hard on innocent faces worldwidely…





Captain Tom Pulls it Off!




As Fizz bomb # 3 looms  big watch sunset smites dystopian manifesto probe;

clear sky thinking slowly sinking proffers us a frosty night; more beds than meds and
staff upset; liberty ships come at what cost?

Eye for the main chance that one; gets the job done mind you. Never hook a flounder after midnight or overlook a gift horse in your face; two fingers offer up a blind spot afore you go.

No look before leap opt out elsewise; refuse or nimbly fencesit riding shotgun for the pigs
Unprepossessed of full fat free range facts and fingers; thus impeded by a bunch of fives till dukes issue a halt to hilarity;
the wicker vicar throws a tantrum in a crowded one stop shop; why just stand giving out incendiary bon mots; head balled is no surprise;

An abbreviated nap follows rural retreat;
wait and see now ennit. Ennit never comes clean. To pull the other one: an invite to allcomers. RSVP. OUI. Four ponds and eighty two stents and cheap at half the price.
Stagnant wet fish market. Sinister Culverts? You bet your ass on that Nelly.

Crisis Cohort



Easter Sunday so they say;
a new motherhood knits her brow

they sit apart together
to confirm the obvious concerns abroad;

I love you from a sadly from a distance
to protect the children from the plague.

Are we not all just little boats
thinks a nosey child concealed

out of sight in the shadows
Real eyeballs meet for the first time in ages.

Nothing exciting will she say
fobbing off the nosey questions

with a secret sign

So who on earth was it who eavesdropped us
hidden close by out of view.
There was considerable footage
on the security cams

here a dazzling sunlight plays a part
the mounting brackets will may
play a part yet in determining
the conclusion of this tribulation
a trial which may make use of this account at will…
if this lockdown never ends…

Might is Trite



Coriolanus rampages throughout, leaving sawbonnne doctors
signed off sick, self medicating on left hand dog legs, shy and retirig,
retiring that is to pick discretely on spicy edibles and creosote
platelet dainties.
Let nature to its own devices carving fresh streams
through obsolescent new builds grown
measly cold on indifference.

Inner sanctified mood, a place where hubris wallows;
note those whose learned eyes speak of it in copious macabre volumes;
‘Cumin 61, your time is up’ reads the lesson;
not on this atomic watch, thought our Henry
counting unhatched reptiles down in the potting shed.
When Alice said and did the vault
we lived like gods; we ate like goldfish; we shat like lords;
at leisure we perfected
the makeshift trappings of a gobsheen,
chose worrying working titles that stuck defiantly
as stray dags to woolly umpers.
Meantime upstairs the Roofer
glued and riveted, exchanged laddish manecdotes,
it seems a revolutionary cream is made
available down the local dragstore

Ill Heaven Zero Four



NINE is eight found wanting
stale orchids splutter
pure airways overnight
no second breath come first gasper
justice thirsts as curfew drains
March makes aether culprit,

flittish snide barbs niggle
vindictive zests defy belief
–when will words fall petal free?
consult yond inner demon seed
that insufferable bore that force feeds you
breast fed by orphan shovels
drives me wild eyed to distraction
shot drops me like a polar bear
found seething raging glowing
sliced through by sabre sleet
on a dodgy asphalt shoulder starving

never got so far that they could fake my name
before the pants were pulled down
and the sacrament began
blurted it out in dribbles and spits
little old me in a market town alley
who would have thought
it would happen there
over here of all places

Ten Twenty Nine…




…something that is probably novel
happens at this time this morning
a fantasy sequence on Brownsea Island
or perhaps a nylon carpet
crackling with static
brings instant concerns
about the bass guitarist
Where is it all gone?
The grass is getting cut.
chocolate muffins and opium all day
Better stay indoors
where oh where did it all go

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…

View original post 117 more words

A Room with a View (I see no ships)



Life you see is a drop in for drop outs
pop-ups, internees, refugees amputees
cut off from the main…
the quality of ennui
falleth like manna from heaven
a silhouette of a thrush
fixated on some shiny distant thing
captivates my idle gaze
exalts it to significance
prompts forgetfulness
for a rare exotic moment
in suburbia

Vellum Quarto




The page is made

on wood

Chopped, chipped, pulvered,


Mulched and Rolled

Morning stretch

Decal edge refined


Cut down to the right size

Behold your adorable


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The Gaze



…that odd time of day that tells;
inbetwixt engagements;
neither fish nor fowl
grace the dinner table;
when night falls we shall be gone
Pith! Sweet deity. Kind moiety
body and soul of livid wit
customizing scandal
scandalizing custom
mirror written cipher reads
upside inside out…
oo my fucking head it span
before the lockdown fixed my gaze

Splendid Insulation (Broiled Leaf & Parrots)



Script aborted so far soso …soo l o n g
…a viral sun shines, oily laurel spangles silver as i prowl, as i twitch divine…trust we not this internet no more?
all is invalid, up for gropin grabs, oleaginous scabs, starched collar bones
those boot boys over there
on the corner milling
looking out for trouble…

The devil is under contract
making work for Israel Hands
Isolating rubies; doing dirty dishes
periwinkling on the sandbar
thinking don Corleone
Hoofing like George Raft…

Script rejected so what nono …soo s o r r y
…a spiral moon climbs, jolly crayfish gambol as I scowl, as I down incline…trust we not this flannalette no more?
Solace fey pallid, paltry vague wan, soft focus close up
Cheroot glows straddle water
Silhouettes on ceilings
Candelabra kneeling

Wall St Imbiss



Watched the Stasi throw
a number of people
in the sea green trabant van
while we discussed the events of 89
them call our outfit ‘Tinkletoes’ and share
unbounded optimism
for no apparent reason
with suspect passing strangers

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Chew it & Pooh It (Hoards of Babylon)



Containment breeds estrangement

I hear you hearing
remember me
when mothballs hatch
in the secret pocket
of your

Todd Sloane




End of day
at close of play
staying put
for night cap
to help
send me to a sleeping more sublime
I fell into a fever and thought myself a flea
transmitter in the lapel
of a diseased bailiff
transmitting gruff sweet nothing
about property and theft

On Hearing the Last Episode of Joseph Andrews…




Lady Booby pulled it off, little cough, wet ruby. Joseph guite beside himself refused to do his duty
Struck out alone but came beck home tail between his legs, quaffed sordidly on gallantry in the
company of dregs. The moral of this story is from gentry girls relent should you cherish freedom
and ludic punishment…

On hearing the last episode of Joseph Andrews realised by wireless on a bright spring day cloistered
in the cell, self isolated for fifteen years since the old queen quit. A Question of succession pervades
a land locked in the spasms of seasonal upheaval, spring camps on the doorstep don’t take no for
an answer…

Sylvia Simms went off into one of her deep dark funks at the mercantile type. The middling non
entity, crouched behind the barb and sheriff. Will Kempes plausible frailty of the restless ester fallen
on hard times, the implication of conspiracy to maim by neglect, she saw Lydia being drawn in to
an an act of human kkindness with alarm. What of her plans? She wrestled hard for a long bare minute.
Were five legs better than one.She grew tense and nervous. Said nothing…

Beat this into shape, make it ship shaped, a Bristol fashion, ultimately flawed by contradiction and
and by surround sound, drowning in drab pastures, talking small to a comely dyke. From faerie ring
to turdstool callow, weathers of life a plenty. There was a time when this was how it would be was
invented. Making the highway you home has extremes of variety. Water has always flowed underground.
Same as it ever was. You cannot step into the same river twice.





Just seems shameful like
I tried and fooled about for the best part of an era
give or take a mock heroic epic or two
as an epoch took fright & lurched back
slunk off in search of collective anonymity
I nimbly skipped on past tackles
sidestepping young bucks
playing tough on no future
beyond the shocking now

wild carding sub conned dubious umbrella firms of ill wind repute
Memorized each one in order
sidling up for the holy drop come elevenses
stopped it and plunged
into teeming bramble, inhabited by cunning stingers, vicious barbs.
Coldt vaincautious glances
fiound eye contact declined

Fad spiralling down dizzy alice selfies
smiley vultures congregate below
soon to part at the pace of a plummet
bumping into roaming spheres
before the forgotten fear of falling
came back with a sten gun

pulling out is no easy ride
boiling hot flesh pies
melting under withered skin
losing conchshell round the bend
rockaby snugly safe under silky
green envelopment

It had beeen slow to warm of late; outswung at the end of a rope
freeze framed close up grimace accompanies blank stare blurred
spectators showing off counted marbles queegly in queer kilts spun
while spooning honey most generous on steaming farls, fell into
a nanocoma and emerged from it a cinque port of my choosing.
Kent was my now my oyster. It could have been the world to me.

In the beginning was the end and that is the long and the short of it.
One finds out sooner or later Walking on mirrors is not all its crack’d up to be
Call me Aphoristo: Anything but Egg ; Housebreaker Bong-Daly
toed the party line without spoiling her nail varnish. Like Beryl Reid
said, it was all about the shoes, which in her nasal snob spoof voice
came over as ‘Shooze’. Why bitch? We’re all just as bad as one another.
Everyone dies ugly.

The swings and roundaboutsm, the ups and downs, the ins and outs, the snakey ladders in thick
toffee nylons, that wretched sound of rasping fingernail. Feverish and seeing things, brain baked by
sandfly.What happpens if i drink that orange squash i puked back up in the tumber? Could have guessed
I suppose. Be grown up grab the first thing and cover it up. Precocious uptaker of examples, trialing
and erring. Pea up the nose; head in the clouds; flying twice nightly low over ratruns.



The noose was too loose, the trap door was stuck.
‘Lydia Steptoe, you are by dint of serendipity, free to roam the earth, jejune and fancy free’
The voice removed the sack. It was Mr Kipling.
‘James Hayter?’
‘None other’ said James Hayter, glowing with avuncular warmth
‘Are you pulling my leg?’ said Lydia.
‘No, dear lady. The rules are clear as custard tarts. Now off you trot, and sorry for the cock-up.’
James Hayter doffed his manky indigo topper and indicated the door marked ‘Exit’
The lights went orange. The cluster of onlookers began to hop on their right legs. Lydia stepped down from the rickety scaffold and scuttled toward the door. Before pushing the bar she turned
‘For what was I condemned to hang, James Hayter?’
‘Wasting court time with mediocre card tricks’
‘Seems a bit harsh’, she thought nodding mock penitence

Outside it was dark. The…

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