Tag: Sonnet

Mad Ithaca


Chronicles of an endgame sour the day,

the last cormorant glides home half-asleep.

mauve tapering headland not faraway

Is darker; the treachery still indiscrete.

I trail past the quiet, dark caravan,

chest pounding with sorrow; tried to walk it

off but it don’t go – a woe-begotten

rotten vixen’s smashed my fragile heart.

On the rise, I make up the chintzy night scene

of Port Ithaca’s tourist hostelries.

Thronging poached Grockles being obscene

Python Lee Jacksons in a broken dream

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On the Passing of the Pioneer Spirit…


Liver Buildings Evening


He was known to live life dissipated:

Gambolling in crazed buffonery,

Guzzled half a modest brewery.

When his liver, bored, emigrated.

My Uncle Head was steadfast and insistent:

‘Feed me!’ he yelled ‘Til I’m wild euphoric.’

For a pint of gin, no tonic: chronic.

So immaculated homeward: distant.

Ten Afton and a quart of Barleycorn,

stern tea and two, too loud radios

Unwelcomed him the very next morning

as he dimly recalled Jack de Mannio,

gave up on a shower and yawning,

levitated outsidewards to soil the patio.

Back inside he trawled in his shotaway head

and dredged up from its slum, the aviator,

Louis Blerio, who, a century and

one day ago, fetched lobster thermidore

and ate it for breakfast on England.

Head sloooshed a tuft of dog and considered

The perilous return voyage while his liver withered.

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Moby Dock



We are whaling, we are whaling, call me

Ishmael, the lucky bugger who found a tree

trunk drifting in lukewarm Horse Latitudes

and fashioned a canoe: sound, swift, bit crude;

but still, given the hairy circumstances,

he avoided the Fish’s necromancies.

Sat here on blustery Selsey Bill, chill

blasts of wintry Solent swoop the feral

groynes, sloppy creosoted and duned

with mounds of heave-hoed pebbles; propelled

from an ocean of discarded dying hulks,

Trainee corpses for the breakers yard: shelled.

This leviathan could not give tuppence worth

with his Moon and Sixpence and an old hair shirt.

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Last night’s feast for lunch instead, postponed due

to pork pies. A Quiche! Bless you. Shrove

next Tuesday. Easter April Five. Another

forty days & forty nights wilderness.

Invert and live in lushious luxury!

The Jolly Messiah, rollicking cove

frolicsome, flatulent, Fallstaffian

Game for a laugh. Fat cross bum. Floozies seep

with laughter. Knickerpissing! Raus, Raus.

Crucifixion riot. Festival of the oppressed.

Why waste carnival on the cold months?

Turn the world upside down in Spring.

Letta tausand blumen blume



…time moves in an oboe polka from slug

slow to impish sprite, flits in heavy privet,

snakes under town tractors, hides behind

wheelie bins, always a nick ahead of

the quick, automatic click, the belated

enough glance, the I’m looking for you look,

off it skedaddles, darting, flitting, slick

freezing stone still, mischievous, keen alert,

a baby Pan messing in misty morning moonlight.

I am busy elsewhere, cursing these bogus charts

messing with focal planes, vanishing points,

hocus-pocus concepts of moon, window-

frame, yucca and squint till boss-eyed, purblind,

I  miss the goings-on altogether…

Watch Clock Watch…


Eight bells, sundown…

Molten golden idling gown, catch worm casts

shadow lampshades gloam, come dance this

light’s fantastical…

Remember whimsical?

Critical, you must do,

Momentary, exemplary, contemporary

fly toff fancy, impish man, cuneiform

zero: trousers inside underpants!

See small things fade insignificant, rhubarb

Leaf green mottle release sorb daub…One bell,

Mr Sundowner, that race is well run, just

glad it was when it was, time and place past,

inspired, the candle understands. Lights on…



An old Jew’s harp prism, makes corona

schism, sees the heaven’s children glisten,

heeds bystanders syllogism, shut up

if you care to listen! Says let sly ones be

bygones, give away the ghosts, or a new world

disappears, defy at your peril swell your

placid eyes with tears. Comet’s trails point away

from the sun, seek out a place in deeper space.

For, if this love does not illuminate,

it won’t be for a want of hate for hatred,

dressed up to thrill the fat potentate

his opinion of himself inflated

soon to implode, unconditionally sated.

SS Missive


Below decks I ate wild mushrooms in scrambled eggs,

warm Parma ham,and  a choice, prime cut, brown bap,

Oodled in buttery herbs, then, replete,

ascended , fortified to sullen work

after a digestive puff

A glimpse of sun is better than none,

must learn to be more grateful for these, my gifts,

the vessel drifts, time floats, ice too.

Less temperate climes, incursive east wind,

will blast and burn, singeing our lashes

saying only we have committed sin

a mortal sin, the sin of not being them.

Leeward, a cacophony and splashes

Dolphins, a school, weirdly mocking, unabashed.




No aims, no lords, just me, and the sea…

Snug in the lap and rock, the slop and plash

Diving deeper, the sleeper plumbs new depths

Of woozy deep, slithers, warm down the unseeable

Billowing liquid flames of the core, the temenos,

Breeched and hewn by exquisite heat, forging a

Pillowed inglenook in which to mosspot ease.

This is no dark blue luxus dreamt up

in tune or sketch, no symphonic flood,

folk smoke trail stream or ramble.

It lies here with the corpuscle

glitching grike soft timorous in the mammoth,

anemone corner of the one now clear

smiling eye behind the fourth stone.

Gonzalo’s Tale



Another bitty night, the wind’s to blame,

the Ham, the game, the Cheese, they all took part,

but did not do what you did, Maria…

You sly one, you twisted, silent, deadly sister

Due to your emission,  I will suffer

endless tumult and derision and you will

live to lie in pastures new as if butter did not melt

Guts are a bit choppy, the wind’s to blame

I explain to the assembled throng who

Conclude it was me, not you who caused the pong

Now, simpled, feeling a complicit tool

You play it Cool, queen the art of cool,

woman’s grudge is women’s definition,

Powder your nose, pass the ammunition.


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