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.

The moon’s cold stare

Who are you looking at

Apollo 11

The moon stared at me

I stared at the moon

Apollo 11

the poetry pharmacy

your you are our gateway 

enter says the sign and the bell

says stay over every cobwebbed exit

genetic engineering

genetic engineering 

tomorrow is no longer

the day after yesterday 

but the very first day ever

when we shall never say die

Haiku

All future haiku will be published on my haiku blog ‘Haiku eye’ https://haikueye.blogspot.com/

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

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

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 

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

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

so snow you know

so snow you know

clematis snow

don’t you know 

it’s spring 

again

when bluebells tring a ling 

when

geraniums box the sun

and runner beans have just begun

to sprout thoughts of butter days 

down all the honeydew summer ways

1949

1949

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.