Thursday, 30 May 2019

Laughing all the way to the Banksy

Laughing all the way to the Banksy

There’s a hole in the wall,
where the Banksy was.
They have taken it away now;
(Careful! Careful! £££)
but they left the hole
that Banksy had
under the Banksy
around the wall.

"You would have thought they would have taken the hole
where the Banksy was, and not left a telltale hole." - "Uh?’

It was too expensive to keep,
and holes are cheap.
It’s in a museum now, on loan;
not the hole, but the whole Banksy.
They have all gone to see it
and left me admiring the hole
that ignored them ignoring it.
And the wall around the hole wishes
if only, if only, Banksy bach, 
it was just a little to the left.

It’s dark and cold and lonely here now,
in the hole in the Banksyless garage,
when there’s a spotlight shinning on the Banksy
and sparkling in their admiring museum eyes. 
Banksy, are you any good at repairing walls?
Plain, old fashioned, breeze block, walls like.

Saturday, 18 May 2019

The moon’s cold stare
Who are you looking at
Apollo 11

The moon stared at me
I stared at the moon
Apollo 11

Friday, 17 May 2019

the poetry pharmacy

your you are our gateway 
enter says the sign and the bell
says stay over every cobwebbed exit

Thursday, 16 May 2019

genetic engineering

genetic engineering 
tomorrow is no longer
the day after yesterday 
but the very first day ever
when we shall never say die

Wednesday, 8 May 2019


All future haiku will be published on my haiku blog ‘Haiku eye’

I’ll reserve this blog for ‘conventional’ poetry.
spots of heavy rain 
branches of the bush shiver
the birds take shelter
cars collect the kids
extinction rebellion
long forgotten now
nettles and wild garlic
bluebells and forget me nots
wet springs in my step
raining on the sea
we go swimming in the sea
wetter and wetter
apple blossom rain
windfall on the glasshouse roof
tomorrow’s fruit
when the music flew
then the seasons flew with you
no buds are left now

Tuesday, 7 May 2019

Sunday morning on Kilvey hill

Sunday morning on Kilvey hill

Upon the mauve the sun light lies across
the heather, in its lucky white guise, shining 
lancet of the night, upon this suckling morn,
warming the dew's breath lifting dawn; and
standing above the docks wrapped around
the piers that hail, good morning Mumbles,
this breathless morn, primed as a church organ 
waiting for the suited to take their solemn pews.

While up here, on the hill, all time stands still;
trilled by the lark rising in all clarity to slake 
the mists away. And hot in quivery shakes 
the boy, above the bay, long in tarrying says:

stay soft, bewitched, upon this hill;
deign fall to sleep in the long grass,
and in the turned grass dream
until the last sunbeam 
is drawn across
the malted moon,
and all too soon, my son,
all too soon, 
the day is done.
summer afternoon 
knowing the touch of every fly
bygones are bygones

Monday, 6 May 2019

the spider and fly 
washed down the same plug hole
so whose house is it
prevailing winds
the trees look at their toes
now let’s get this straight
first snowflakes lamplight
golden halo of the night
chip shop steaming ahead
clouds and wisteria
waterfall blue bursts the wall
climate eyes widen 

Sunday, 5 May 2019

the middle of May
blackbird sitting in the sun
song of the earth rests
a copse in the marsh 
hot reeds are still listening
cuckoo  again  cuckoo

Saturday, 4 May 2019

the sun is sand warm
sparkling ripples raise the sea
war over the horizon
we dance the Maypole
eyes locked together implore
neutron stars explode
playing the old songs
walking taller than the sky
winter on the earth 
perfume on the breeze
flowers bloom in meadows dressed 
dark night of the soul 
sparrows feed their chicks
the trees resound to chirrups
spring sees winter

Wednesday, 1 May 2019

so snow you know

so snow you know

clematis snow
don’t you know 
it’s spring 
when bluebells tring a ling 
geraniums box the sun
and runner beans have just begun
to sprout thoughts of butter days 
down all the honeydew summer ways



the poet wrote that poem
eight days after I was born while
I slept on and on and did not know
that today I would but then I did not
set the date it set when it did not
Let us spray

I was going to potter out there,
in the sunlit morning air;
but the Neanderthal with the power sprayer
shot it down and washed it all away.
Well another day gone to devil may care,
in the sunlit morning air.