the Berk report

a pretty nice hat

anthem for one

 

through a mercenary time of year

predatory winds from far & near

murmur reasons in-between my ears

walking alone

 

dying leaves are sprouting everywhere

demons stalking trees in mock despair

streamlined by my fallen hair & worse

walking alone

 

no one will support this civil war

slingman archer priest or treasurer

shall donate their blood on such a clause

walking alone

 

equally absurd a frequent flyer

running scared or bored the rules require

company there are no solo choirs

walking alone

 

hot & cold the air is full of tar

feathers vodka myrrh & cinnabar

treason mirrored in a row of jars

walking alone

 

 

 

love rules

 

what you got is two

poles a coupla holes or one

each it’s war stroke peace

matching members or

opposites it matters not

combination counts

oh & then there’s time

people change their preferences

better rule that in

splitting up is fine

even having sex outside

marriage hence divorce

triolism group

whatchacallit intercourse

everything in fact

 

 

 

the sea at night

 

brave the sea their bright

pools of milky blackness white

shadows starry lights

dive below the tide

riding swells of darkness hide

out in coldness glide

letting go of sad

sediments ain’t been a bad

life no worries lad

taste the salt dissolved

blood of cuttlefish it’s good

take a breather flood

notwithstanding shoot

through your monsters steal their loot

deep in liquid root

 

 

 

HMS Indigestible

 

getting swallowed by an angry whale

sucks it’s not the sort of death you’d tick

drowning for example or a quick

coronary

 

no to be the scapegoat Moby Dick

claims in blind revenge at all the crimes

perpetrated on their species you’d

suffer my word

 

gulps of fishy breath the ambergris

worthless shucks & hordes of krill would draw

dying out beyond a flashing life

meanwhile the old

 

Jonah story flicking through your mind

fifteen times before you understand

prophesised regurgitation ain’t

gonna occur

 

but to live on human flesh get stuffed

whales should stick to baby seals & quit

hankering after retribution we’re

rotten as food

 

 

 

idiocracy rules

 

anorexic dudes

making Eric eat again

sons of Erica

 

Anoraks on stilts

shooting union Parkas out

waving rebel flags

 

independence see

William Penn his silvern groves

pulled from under him

 

but it’s oke them Brits

ain’t a-coming back & you’re

better off alone

 

let the poor man in

cobbled streets could use a rest

warm his two left feet

 

 

 

document #46

 

Putin or

Rasputin I don’t

give a shit

 

 

 

in the right

 

now that folks have read their bibles hung

cattle rustlers gone to bed at dusk

fed on cottage cheese & drunk their own

ale shall we talk

 

Martian forces having occupied

all the fertile pastures north of Ur

let the Russians take their seats once more

backs to the wall

 

Roger Waters’ band The Oilygarchs

play Tchaikovsky’s nutcase overture

live on old tin cans with catgut strings

Spotify lurks

 

plus the moon is new again & lit

up with solar powered LEDs

geo-stationary orbit gets

everyone’s vote

 

but the other hemisphere’s so what

all we hear from them’s complaint complaint

may conspiracies consume their night

we’re in the right

 

 

 

 

ain't disputin

 

oh he’s a

rootin

tootin

shootin

lootin

hoopin

whoopin

puttin

bootin

Putin

 

cos he’s a

stoopin

bloopin

droopin

lupin

lubin

tubin

fumin

poopin

Putin

 

he ain’t a

movin

groovin

croonin

spoonin

droolin

swoonin

hootin

moonin

Putin

 

for he’s a

troopin

groomin

gloomin

roomin

zoomin

boobin

foolin

provin

Putin

 

 

 

don’t save the turds eh

 

fragments from ekphrastic verses felt

tipped across a boghouse wall describe

famous catamites of old Pompeii

cheeky as day

 

archaeology ain’t dead you see

pics from Tutankhamen to the Ark

Royal’s underwater fish tank just

fathom them out

 

scratch appearances from DNA

vehicles or recompose a whole

hymn of Sappho’s from a single burp

nothing’s absurd

 

TS Eliot is pound for pound

cloned the profs of lit have over turned

every blasted line the begger wrote

lasered on scones

 

but mistake these toilet verses not

flush them down the pan so virtual

fish can choke upon their syntax no

joking they’re crap

 

 

 

geddit lord reprised

 

what do people want

better politics or sports

coverage d’you think

 

given half a chance

would they have a Westminster

win or Wimbledon

 

let the games commence

choose your brickbats rackets balls

alligator rules

 

crocodile reports

fifteenth century debauched

monks on tennis courts

 

umpires nailed to doors

score draws daubed on frescoed walls

losers crucified

 

 

 

another lunatic attempt

 

take the moon the moon

waxing waning bathed in light

front or back they zoom

cold but blazing white

craters blasts of debris plains

haloed leading edge

trail of mountain range

bright vibrating heaven made

now we know their age

matches ours we dance

round each other’s orbit tamed

yet so vibrant once

folk believed they reigned

god of hunting maid of shame

chorus skating dunce

 

 

a pretty nice girl

 

eyes off

 

whither drivest thou

Queen Elizabeth the crown

now in storage waits

till our king has grown

older still for time exacts

patience from us all

villeins gentlefolk

those that wave the wand in jest

or who wouldn’t let

butter melt the worst

lie in state for decades while

eating crème brûlée

off the rations your

highness once a pretty nice

girl in overalls

not a pretty sight