Tag: Epiphany




Purple sloping Wonderfield

Bog cattle hugging below

Sat like the statue thinking

Halfway up on a blasted stump

Beneath a humming pylon

Beside a scruffy gorse

Sits a painted horse

Myrtle twizzling track

Made respectable by

Tarmac and white strips

Desiccated coconut flakes

Magnolia and cherry blossom

Windblown dusting cows snouts

Makes them shuffle, snort in concert

Painted horse sneezes along aloof

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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

Three Wise Guys



Epiphany mistook for Advent!

This tells a tale or ten…

Lost is Yulespace, got mashed, and crashed to earth.


The last day of Xmas.


Today the alchemists bearing the yearly cold, lack of sense and mirth

pitch up, begging favours, selling usury. Usual cobblers;

Wealth, divinity, and death – too late lads, I will say,

Got that on Black Friday mugging happy shoppers

(bagged a drone charger and a ten foot serene flatscreen)


No, today its back to bollocks with a bang

Like all good things,

so must bad things


Bring it on, Xenophon!

…it ain’t no sin

The Poor Poet by Carl Spitzweg


The deep, odd, shock of it hit me in the sun

On the shed path, marooned on a concrete crack

Freed up took in the scene, shocked, turned;

Trundled, older, balder, back up the ramp

Freewheeled, calmer, silent, down the ramp

Came to rest beside the stable table,

Tossed my hair (singular) in the blue breeze

And wiped the puss from Barney’s weeping souls.

The moo-cows are gone home to roast

No more mutinous idiots barge in

Decide to play this game of life to win

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