My New Socks

i've some red and black socks
they sure look a treat
it's fun to have anarchic feet

A Senyru

San Franscisco smile
a distant clang of streetcars
Golden Gate mists roll

A Senyru

browsing dusty bookshops
hand written new loves live on
endearments of joy

Aqua Marine

out beyond the bow wave
strung
as Chinese lanterns
a constellation of jellyfish

A Good Day For Michael

a good day for Michael
all the smiley faces
stabilisers off the bike
and learnt to tie his laces

The Lonesome Mule

i came acoss a lonesome  mule
upon a dusty distant  track
i led him to a  languid pool
i did not climb up on his back

A Senyru

swirling Northern Lights
heavens joyful symphony
playful spirits dance

A Senyru

Blue Mountained vista
shimmering eucalyptus
Australian light

A Senyru

somewhere in cities
curled in carnival days
all sirened she sleeps

Talking Shoes

i bought a pair of talking shoes
they told me where to go

Exocetra

why don't  you look
where you're  going?
do i really have to pen
another bloody poem?

you blaze down the street
clutching your phone
don't  see me  at distance
with my broken bone

your eyes and your ears
they don't seem connected
and  somehow my manners
have got you all disrespected

you rant and you spit
but you don't care to see
that you're now sailing closer
ever closer to me

so why the f***  don't you
just look the f*** where you're going?
you've got me meandering
all too-ing and fro-ing

ok, here comes the clash
SLAM!
into my shoulder
you mutter and cuss
my bone starts to smoulder

gritting my teeth
i screech out a yelp
you're  another stray bullet
in much need of help  

so it seems on the street
we're all now at  risk

NEWSFLASH! OTHER PEOPLE EXIST!!

Another Blank Page

a blank white  page
where to begin?
without an idea
and  just on a whim

maybe something about camels?
and the weird way they move
or that over rated daub
they hang in Le Louvre?

a migration of swallows?
a trip to the moon?
my first teddy bear?
the life of a broom?

Californian sunsets?
a New England Fall?
an old  attic tea chest?
or  lost glove on a wall?

Chatuhak market?
a  night on the lash?
the nature of comets?
the Wall Street Crash?

so i'll just sit here pondering
and scratching my head
i guess you can't force it
so i'll go back to bed

On Draws The Night

a drunken moon
slips down upon her back
melting hipstamatic
yellowed through an inky sky

and the night draws on...

a passing freight train
rolls on by
marking time
again and again and again and again

and the night draws on....

somewhere
down a side street bar
a lonesome clarinet
note perfect
tips her hat and bows
to Sinatred saxophones
throaty rhythms
and all that jazz

and the night draws on.....

distant sirens vocalise
desperate impatience
it's all bar stools and bourbon

and the night draws on......

a recent rainfall
reflects  juggernaught clouds
or a migraton of whales
upon their way
to who knows where?

and the night draws on........

a scrutty old tom calls out
telegraphing his presence
afore a backdrop
of skipping rope cables

and the night draws on...........

there, weaves the local wino
stumbling to the fence
shouts at his mind
in fire escape dreams

the dawn will up
some time again

but as for now the night draws on.......

Radio Controlled

i think
i may have shocked her
when she
got back from the doctor
and i crashed my helicopter

Another Fekkin English Gobshite Cashing In On Paddie's day

pneumatic over famine road
lost high in Donegal
strolled blowy o'wer golden sands
where no soul stepped at all

slurped up dark stout
down Sligo way
tumbled brightly over gates
from stone bridge eyed
the salmon's play
recalling Joyce and Yeats

found a hostel for my bed
reels still ringing round my head
awoke my boots again to plod
of trailered trundling
turf or sod

upon Dingle did i take the air
to chance upon a dolphin there
onward down to Bantry Bay
topped cliffs of Moher
in dark slate grey

wound round and down
the brilliant coast
light filters strangely bright
thoughts of Emmet and McBride
all martyred for the fight

skimmed across to Inisheer
two pubs and a house for beer
fiddle and Bodhran lit the air
twenty eight verses of despair!

World In A Snowstorm

i'd like to take you
encapsulate you
view you through crystal
within a world of your making
and celebrate daily
by vividly shaking

Kites

kites in trees around my way
tangled on the breeze
a man with sharper eyes than i
points out they're merely plastic bags
unwillingly i must concede
but always kites to me
d'you see?

Budgetbeater's Breakout

searchlights scan
from supermarkets
six trollies
have gone awol

they made the break
at five past eight
sick of Pepto Bismol

six tollies
they have gone to ground
upturned by the garden hedge
they've got to know some mattresses
who've been living on the edge

Snails II

the snail in his shell
thinks he can't be seen
but if you look on the ground
you can see where he's been!

Six Crows Circle (There's murder in the air)

six crows circle
mawkish oil rags
haphazard on the wing

i take a walk along the railway cuttings...

they gather in the branches
of a half dead tree
mocking deathlike

hanging about the cemetary again
with that....
come hither look

A Serious Poet

he'll tell you he's a poet
his aura deathly, dour
makes sure you know he's published
ellucidates for hours

oft to proffer words like "quince"
discombobulated twilight?
a slow raising of one eyebrow
is pretty much his highlight

proudly ponders over pointless prose
lovingly fingers over his text
horn-rimmed specs perched on his nose
you may guess what's coming next?

as i scan the room searching for some clue?
is there something that i've missed?
please...save it for your diary
or your psychotherapist!

likes to tell me i'm dumbing down
my words plucked from the shallows
so maybe i should raise my game?
string something from the gallows

so if you e're happen across this chap
and wonder of his cause
just remember when he's done his set
he doesn't do applause!

Common Lore

you treat me
as a common housefly
i lie on my back
waving my legs in the air

and

when using my feet
to clean my face
still
you remain
......unimpressed

Hospital Visit

i thread my car through unforgiving streets
where manners are places people live
on through the sodium haze
to the place where she is
half drugged, half asleep

and the sign clipped to the foot of her bed reads
"she does not eat meat.."

slipping ghost-like through disinfected corridors
swing doors and over polished floors
she lays there ashen absurd
in a nightie supplied by the NHS
.........bless

Tangents

skipping off on tangents
tangents all the time
what started out as lemon
is now......lard

Pedantry

now
i'm not usually one
who fiddles or fusses
but
the plural of Octopus
is not Octopi
it's Octopusses

Jig-Sawed

nearly completed a one thousand piece jig-saw
of a beautiful home
and two lovers kissing
but just realised
there's a little piece missing

A Beckoning Sea

already exhausted
she slowly emerges
some place along the shore

somewhere in the moonlit tide
to the grave from whence she came

scurrying seaward with weak purpose
so vulnerable, so eager

push by painful push

a heavy lumbering

awkward out of water
on she goes, heaving her bulk
gasping at the warm night air
onward up a familiar and sandy slope
accompanied only by the gentle lapping of a rolling sea
leaving flattened, machined tracks in her wake

only mother moon to guide and watch over her now

but for a distant thump thump thump
of some summers reverie

a brief pause to gasp at life itself
and so her dig begins
determined, tortured; constant
in trance she waits

shiny black beady eyed
sensing life’s release
how many warm eggs?

but for now she must up and work again
laboured and with urgent haste
replace the sand that’s been displaced

an infant emergence

all clockwork and programmed

to a beckoning sea......

A Ropey Poem

on holiday in Majorca

my mother said

look what i’ve bought ya

a pair of lovely

rope soled shoes



well i was only eight

at the time

but recognised

a fashion crime



and when i saw them

i nearly died

made me look stupid

and i damn near cried!



so she tried to distract me

on a glass bottom boat

and i began to wonder

if said shoes might float?



look down there!

she exclaimed, a further distraction

and still non-plussed

with my sulky reaction



now a battle like this

you will lose every time

for she'd been on the sauce

since around about nine



and i suppose in the sun

when you’re trying to have fun

DM’s don’t really hack it

and aside from that

they cost a packet!



so getting back to the boat

and me with the blues

i needed to create a diversion

and coax up an urchin

persuade it to lurch in

and nick my shoes!

Bikes Of Passage

we used to turn our bicycles 

upside down

along the passage 

by the garage

and turning the pedals 

with our hands

would make the back wheel spin 

and for a little added realism?

sometimes we’d give the bell a ping!



we liked to pretend 

that we were grinding coffee?

now i often wondered? 

what we were doing?

but never found out why?

you see

the other boys were older

and i was kind of shy…..

I Wait By The Car

she

wakes without warning
tugging at curtains
just enough to cut the dust
i check the post

she

searches for something
something to slurp
last night's curry
depleated, reheated
devoured in bed

she

shuffles off to the bathroom
splashes about
toothbrush on full
mirrored on tip-toe
draining the dam

she

searches for something
something to wear
steps into a dress
ties a scarf in her hair
then changes her mind
regardless of time

.....................i wait by the car

In Mellow Dreams

a sapphired lake
floats a full moon's brilliant reflection
sweet scented pines
watch on with quiet grace

snow drifts arced
high in sweeping rest
against the  cabin wall

alone wolf shakes off flakes
with vivid dismissal

sneezes, points his snout aloft
to sniff the wintery air
licks his lips
yawns a steamy cloud of  now

curled up oblivious
in mellow dreams we sleep

a Senyru

humble offerings
hungry souls that dwell within
a Thai spirit house

I will be adding old and new poems,  performance/non-performance, Senyru, Haiku etc as I go. I would apreciate comments of any nature & hope that you may find some enjoyment from my scribblings......

Mulling Things Over

Mulling Things Over……

on a narrow strip of land

twixt one life and another

if you will?

an emotional and metaphorical isthmus

popped into a bar

boasting the finest mulled wine

and it tasted of

liquid Christmas

Snails I

Snails I

the snail has evolved
he's really quite modern
he comes out at night
so as not to get trod on

Step Down The Pace

Step Down the Pace

wild roadside poppies

turreted hill top hamlets

bathed in ochre

drenched in light

distant weathered farms front

robot rusted ploughs

freewheeling around curvy lanes

to reveal

battalions of sunflowers

deep clear trouted  rivers

turning aged mossed water mills

churning up the morn

with constant flurry

aromatic market life

all bric-a-brac and Brie

fine white lace

but s’il vous plait

step down the pace

whilst cycling out through France

Badger

Badger

on the street
they call him
“Badger”

all duffled up and derelict
laser piercing eyes
neither melancholic
nor rueful….
obligatory wizened beard

a former signalman
of the East Coast line
locomotive badges
pinned haphazard about his breast
remnant reminders
of trains gone by…..

an urban fox, who,
for half and ounce of Ready Rub
will happily point out
all the drops, the stops; the overspill shops

for two winters past
he’d bed down in the hospital furnace outbuildings
slipping through a side door
Ginger through her cat-flap
dry his clothes
and toast his toes
whilst others far less fortunate
froze

Thursday early evening
is the back of Greggs the Bakers
down crouched in the alley
with Johnny the Docker
or mumbling Mary with the steering wheel

seagulls gather mocking
also waiting for their fill
fresh loaves sometimes still warm
rainbow showered into hungry skips
and on a special day, the odd Danish
or vanilla slice
as birthdays past….

and so
shuffles off down the street
on invisible skis
coughs on cue
and yes it’s true
he likes a drink
but don’t we all have our vices?

deep in the depths of some rancid pocket
a spittled and battered harmonica
teeth marks of winters past
and door-wayed tunes
of spells to cast

Vernon's Ladder

Vernon’s Ladder

bathed in arc light

down the garden shed

in the arabesque

of an old string vest

Vernon makes a ladder

 to keep his spirits up

now to be fair

there’s a nip in the air

so slipping into the house

and greeting his spouse

he fixes himself a hot toddy

but while he’s in there

the nip in the air

blows over a candle

that lights up the handle

of the brush he had used with the varnish

poor Vernon’s ladder was razed to the ground

A Dummy's Guide To Penning A Popular Poem, if you can't be wise plagiarise

you could ramble for hours
on the beauty of flowers

bang on about Slough

the why and the how?

heed not if they deem you

weird or mad

they fuck you up

your Mum and your Dad

brush up on adventures

of Pam Ayres new dentures

wander lonely as a cloud

to a back-beat ripped from Girls Aloud

but be quite sure

you get it right

illuminate the tigers

of your night

shilly shally

ride into the valley

your nights to fulfill

or candled and quilled

be Smith or Browning

not waving but drowning

go tread the boards

at The Edinburgh Fringe

because you know why the caged bird sings

just sort out all

the flim from the flam

of which is more my son

you’ll be a man

Anyone For Venice?

buildings are many
canals everywhere
there, the waft of renaissance
fills the air

few open spaces
blown glass
and fine laces

well yes they have
the Bridge of Sighs
but athletes few
with muscley thighs

Ventian ices
fancy fine wines
all a constant reminder
of historical times

now to be fair

there is St Mark’s Square

but there’s always way

too many people there

you’d  never be able to fix up a net

or finish a set

now i feel sure that Leeds
could more than accommodate your needs

so as to save you some time

and eek out a rhyme

you can’t play tennis
in Venice

Stokey Bard - Haiku

Haiku

blustery leaves fall

a beautiful death rains down

dancing autumnal

Stokey Bard - Everything Breaks

Everything Breaks

i’ve tried Japanese and German

all types and all makes

but one thing’s for sure

everything breaks

all sorts of confectionery

from Ripples to Flakes

tear open the wrapper

crumbs

everything breaks

second hand watch

titanium face

but sooner or later

everything breaks

i’ve had all sorts of alliances

with all kinds of appliances

paid exhorbitant fees

for life guarantees

steered clear of crass makes

but when push comes to shove

everything breaks

settled on a bed

assured safe for earthquakes

but at the end of the day

everything breaks

had fallen in love

but now my heart aches

struck hard Cupid’s arrow

a lass

everything breaks

Sprinkled with Stardust

Sprinkled with Stardust

sprinkled with stardust

you’re a bit of a crush

so i’ll follow  you round

with a dustpan and brush

don’t worry, i won’t; i won’t really do that

Martin

Martin

here he comes
all photography classes
three button cardies

and National Health glasses

his coffee’s Fair Trade
he wears wool from Alpacas
has all sorts of firewalls
to keep out the hackers

he’s high tech and blue toothed
knows his way round the net
saves trees from the Amazon
but flies down by jet

an intelligent man
when it comes to the highways
drives a Smart car
that he likes to park sideways

now you're likely to find him
in the vintage shops
browsing the bracers
and Bakelite clocks

likes to charm ya
with his Weimaraner
cause all sorts of elation
with his spotty Dalmatian

in every room
a smoke detector
doesn’t watch telly
but loves his projector!

treks around Cambodia
Vietnam and Laos
U.S.A.A.F. souvenirs
carpet bombed round the house

all kitted out in lycra
he sure does look the burk
wears a yellow jersey
as he cycles in to work

truth be told i’m jealous
he seems to have the lot
head stuck fast in a Lonely Planet
while i’ve lost the plot

When the Clocks Go Back

When the Clocks Go Back

roosting time
starlings swoop
swarm swirl and sway

a dogfight for dusk
high hung on the wing
fast directionless

but all as one
this way, that way
gathering squadrons

worthless words at play
as they wave goodbye
the day

in aerial poetry

Off The Shelf

Off The Shelf

sometimes i like to traipse about

second hand book stores

and sunny market stalls

hopes of picking out

some old forgotten gem

all dog-eared and darkened

still yet to peruse

or to replace favourite reads

passed out

to new excited friends

over late nights of wine, music

and smoky discourse

carefully selected

but rarely returned……

and at times  

upon the inside page

i come across

hand written messages of new loves

hopes and dreams……..

and i wonder….

how they wound up here?

love’s time all done

and dusted down

and could there be

in some old cobbled store

Nabokov Camus Hamson

naive inscriptions

i may have even penned myself?

and wonder how and why

they wound up here

up on the shelf?

Cutting the Grass

(a surreal poem about The British Empire)

a pair of well worn elephant skin curtains were drawn

exposing an English country garden

a small and European sun

cuts a swirling beam of derma

a fireplace crafted from the yellowing skulls

of native Tasmanians

frames the green and purple flames

of a roasting heart

over in one corner

a bloodhound drools

in another

a majestic flamingo

glass encased in spastic stance

over by the bookcase

ten thousand Russian peasants wept

whilst on a tiger rug

the Englishman he slept

Some Senyru/Haiku

‎1
open bird free skies
a sidewinder’s laddered dune
and mineret’s call
2
taverned nights close dim
meandering wayward home
the moon on my shoe
3
hummingbird sun
tangled trees sleep silent
a steepled moonlight
4
girl's footprints in sand
skimming stones and flying fish
summer's gentle breeze
5
lost in your eyes
illuminated radiance
a thousand candles

Remember the Woods

we used to run amok
about the woods
shouting “watchout! Gerrys!!”
no time for woodland creatures
bluebells, bracken or berries

building our dens
from the things that we found
pinecone grenades
hurled down from the mound

all charging out
with pointed sticks
bloodcurdling screams of DIE!!

but as mother always used to say
it’s all fun and games
till someone loses an eye!