Selected poems

This was the year that was not the year

Selected poems

This was the year that was not the year

This was the year that was not the year 
I repaired the bathroom tap 
and emptied out the kitchen drawer 
of a lifetime’s worth of crap. 

This was the year that was not the year
in which I launched a new career. 
A West End hit eluded me 
as did Time Person of the Year. 

This was the year that was not the year 
I became a household name. 
Action figures were not sold of me.
I wasn’t made a dame. 

This was the year that was not the year
I spent less time on my phone. 
A night of passion did not happen 
in a boutique hotel in Rome. 

This was the year that was the year 
I didn’t get that much done –
much the same as the year before, 
much like the one to come. 

Roger’s Thesaurus

Selected poems

Roger’s Thesaurus

In order to grow, expand, widen
his lexicological corpus,
Roger bought, acquired, purchased
a synonymopedia, a thesaurus.

Soon, presently, without delay,
he no longer ran out of things to say,
speak, utter, express, articulate,
give voice to, pronounce, communicate.

This was all very well, fine, great,
wonderful, super, terrific
but his friends, mates, pals found him
boring, tedious, dull, soporific.

So let this be a warning,
an omen, a sign, a premonition,
it’s all very well to show learning,
education, knowledge, erudition,

but here’s a top tip, a hint,
a suggestion, some advice,
don’t ever let it stop you
from being concise

.

ss

brief, short, clear, pithy,
succinct, compendious, to the point,
compact, snappy, laconic.

..

.

Breviloquent.    

Neither Rhyme nor Reason

Selected poems

To make poems rhyme can sometimes be tough
as words can seem to be from the same bough,
yet each line’s ending sounds different, though,
best covered up with a hiccough or cough.

Was this upsetting to Byron or Yeats?
Dickinson, Wordsworth, Larkin or Keats?
Did they see these words as auditory threats?
Could they write their lines without caveats?

What does it matter when all’s said and done
if you read this as scone when I meant scone?
It’s hardly a crime. There’s no need to atone:
language is a bowl of thick minestrone.

So mumble these endings into your beard –
this poem should be seen, rather than heard.

O do not ask if I am beach body ready

Selected poems

O do not ask
if I am beach body ready.

Observe how the folds of my stomach ripple
like the wind-pulled waves.

Rub your hands over these pale buttocks,
sand-smoothed by time.

Note my milk-white limbs like washed up whalebones,
stranded and useless.

Consider these tufts of hair on my back and shoulders
sprouting wildly like sea-grass.

And listen to the lapping of my socks
at the shores of my sandals.

And still you ask me
if I am beach body ready?

You Took the Last Bus Home

News, Selected poems

I took delivery yesterday of some advance copies of the gorgeous new edition of ‘You Took the Last Bus Home’.

In celebration of that, here’s the title poem …

You Took the Last Bus Home

you took
the last bus home
don’t know how
you got it through the door 

you’re always doing amazing stuff 

like the time

you caught that train

The Bad Salad of William Archibald Spooner

Selected poems

Why do I always watch my birds?
I know that statement sounds absurd
but today I reached an all-lime toe
when I received a blushing crow.

It’s wetting gorse – and here’s the crunch:
my conversation packs a lunch.
I’m not sure when all this began
but I think I need a plaster man

to help me when my stouth gets muck.
I should sit, perhaps, and bead a rook,
fight a liar, or flick some powers.
No, I think I’ll go and shake a tower.

…………………………………………………………………..

The Reverend William Archibald Spooner was born on this day in 1844. He’s remembered today for his unfortunate habit of getting his words muddled up. Happy Spoonerism Day to all those who belly crate.

Wild Weekend

Selected poems

Sunday – and the squirrels are lazing in their branches,
the sheep are congregating for morning service,
and the bears are sleeping off their sore heads.

The sloths are taking things slow, the hippos are wallowing,
the cats are curling up on the newspaper in front of the television.
The alpacas will spend the day in their fluffies.

Not everyone is taking it easy. The deer are up already
for a walk around the park. The ducks are planning a trip
across the lake. The salmon have gone wild swimming.

The snails are pottering about the garden, while the crows
scan its aisles for materials and a spot of DIY. The pigeons have split
up: some are hanging around the shopping centre,

others intend to spend the afternoon at the Test match.
The lions are having an old friend over for dinner, the camels
are baking, the spiders are browsing their webs, and the humans…

the humans are wondering where the weekend has gone
as they stave off the prospect of another beastly Monday,
questioning the natural order of things.

Today’s Climate Forecast

Selected poems

And onto today’s climate forecast, 
where we can expect to see a prolonged spell of inaction,
interspersed with patches of hazy promises
across many areas. 

Over Westminster and other centres of government,
a build-up of hot air will cause inactivity to soar
to record levels over the coming days,
in spite of the high pressure.

Elsewhere, a front of chronic misinformation 
will sweep in from the east,   
bringing with it a thick band of climate change deniers
and the chance of scattered falsehoods,

while powerful gusts of idiocy and ignorance
look set to blow across social media.
Outbreaks of ‘We just got on with it in 1976’
and ‘It’s called the British summer, mate’ are likely.

In summary: unsettling.