Selected poems

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.

Mnemonic

Assorted Poems, Selected poems

Thirty days hath September,
April, June and November.
Unless a leap year is its fate,
February hath twenty-eight.
All the rest hath three days more,
excepting January,
which hath six thousand,
one hundred and eighty-four.

Job Interview with a Cat

Selected poems

Tell me, what is it about this position that interests you?
The warmth, perhaps? The security?
Or the power you must feel by rendering me useless?
Feel free to expand if you wish. 

I see you have had experience of similar positions.
Can you talk about a time when you got someone’s tongue?
Or were set amongst the pigeons?
Have you ever found yourself in a bag only then to be let out of it?  

Tell me, how would you feel if you had to walk on hot bricks?
What about a tin roof of similar temperature?
With reference to any of your past lives,
has curiosity ever killed you? 

Finally, where do you see yourself in five years?
In the same position? Or higher up to catch the sunlight?
Or would you like to be where I am now?
Oh, it appears you already are.