beseiged by famine
forgave the greedy eyes
of old aquaintances
they had not long to go
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.
had a thought
i lost the thought
that very thought
poplar with farm animals
sam woud be amused
this is a masterpeice
from the last
Sunday: Wrote to H, he replied! I replied.
He replied first though–in a sense–so there.
Hausfrau sleeps fun off. Cricket and Tennis
left to keep me real for now.
Feathermouse bioupgrades to Mousefeather
Drifts away to dry on idle thermals
criss-crosses skimarked skies declare
blue snow a first in such climes…
resist the flying pig roast passing over
St Swithin cops a deaf ‘un
keeps his pigeon powder dry
Tunnelling down at rainbow’s end—
gawping at St Finnian’s crock —
pursuing nostalgic martyrdom gig—
repulsive depressive disorder—
put me down: never let me go —
oppress me do oppressor dear
o pressure sore god help us —
unfamiliar faces scroll back
years of wine brown noses —
grant me discouragement now
& at the hour of discourse—
Amen corner bed of stars —
commodores cry out Zoot Alors!
feel the pulse of her indoors —
fell when pulling on her drawers —
broke her head being
an eternal bore
spoonfed persistent nightmare —
swallow the yellow brick road —
wash it down with chainsaws —
something stirs down dingley dell
a sound of tyres screeching —
insecticides in paradise —
quintessential now and then —
improves the yield vindictive seed —
the limpid massive grumbleweed —
clogs up arteries
likes artificial opiums
Called back left a brief message
–they said my call was important to them
but never mentioned why
i am a curious wolf
who came across this yolk
looking for a bite to eat
–why not edible gadgets
bite sized desirous
that leave you wanting more
ust pick a flavour of your choice
from our wide range &
tempted i replied:
‘my favourite is long piglet
pink pork bones chewy soft
& fresh mountain water
to wash away the stench
to the sangune lit
of Summer by Vivaldi
Now I wait with bated breath
dribbling on the telling bone
fifty why not make it sixty
sixty lines a day
lines of various
l e n g t h s
–must it be teatime
already my life
telltale toe in plastic skin
F l i e s
flies of various size
age & foible
cannot resist wet ulcers
…nORTH aTLANTIK cONVOY SHIPS kAMU kHAZI flagged cREWED bY sCUM & sAWBONE tAR AND scurvy RUMbLINGS eavesdropped fRoM AN aPPLE cART IN cHAINS sTIngING lIKE THe seaside BEsIDE ThE sEA sTop
Ottie spotted whatshisface darting through the briny meadow chased by awesome owls freshly waxed mauve incandescent as nocturmal solifluxion made merry with the crockery
Fleur slashed in the well drawn room acting out all overcome feigning fly girl on a swing sporting giggle and flash Commando Figtree her ruby lipped succulence but briefly before crashers burst in to nibble little Lavinia, the scuttle fish ghoul. It was a mere afterthought to tip the wink to Soames it’s back to basics when the cock crows tango
In the temple Hamish craved his long lost sporren over Arbroath smokies yet on hearing the on stage ructions seized his moment to make off with Count Onanski’s hoola hoop on a whim. Oh to see their faces when the word gets out!
‘Slash & Burn. Slash & Burn. That’s all you hear these days…’
‘Oh do shut up and dice up your neeps. My God, is that our Hamish with a famous hoola hoop?
Exclaimed those that knew
Irrupts surge in rent
open permanent up torrent
firmament redundant bluff
abundance waits on
thunderstorms to pass fast
judgement is found remorseless
for thrall the best
in the sparseness of time immemorialised by fleeting potwallopers .
Yipes! William Faulkner and 1244, decorative Gothic meets the peer plan
documentary hungry for knowledge to feed enfeeble headtones
after Danish pastry pig out.
Ooo that falling wall,
claxon sounds, run like buggery,
watch out for falling scaffold, crumbling masonry, she’s going,
timbers creak, buttresses flying solo, gargoyles bite the dust,
a great levelling has its ups and downs as well as highs and lows,
be carefree what you wish for,
be not so dour nuncle,
there’s fuck all left for you here.
Hit the road Jerk,
and dontya come back no more, No more. There’s a thought. No more.
Put that in your Pope and smirk it.
Get you over the hump it will.
The hump? Figure of bad posturing breeds Hump.
Son of Grunt and Thump, mate of Drug and Slump,
came out like frog up pump, ended up with frump.
Semi precious Rump
Some rain we had while shrivelled up eating chunky cheeseburgers,
water was flooding down the hill no doubt.
Emergency traffic lights installed—intrepids in waders stride out.
Tractors Hydroplaning nowhere fast.
Inconvenient to basking water buffalo, Joe. What’s it about?
Four afternoons. After the clouds burst.
Out in torrents Choirboys cast off the yolk in raucous broken vocals.
Caught out between showers.
Call to adventure.
Put me in a home alone. Chide me not for fumbling. A room with a not you in it.
insisting be nice or we’ll ignore you,
leave you to stew in your juice until
you learn to please and thank the lord.
No second childhood here luv
—old age stinks to high heaven.
Thanks but no thanks very much.
Count your hidden pills. Consult the almanac.
Last day of May. Off with the clout.
World cup and Wimbledon make it all worthwhile somehow.
Jackdaws drop sticks down chimney pots.
Now where did Mabel leave that shotgun?