Space peas

Put me in a rocket
With some peas
In my pocket,
I’ll be fine.
Is of the essence
And there’s plenty,
My days won’t be empty.
Travelling at the speed of light,
A pea-fuelled rocket flight
Is as good a way as any
To turn one day into many.

Stars are twinkling in the sky,
On and on (with peas) I fly.


the cat and the chickpeas

I thought a cat

And the cat got sick

And the cat grew claws

and paws

and slick

And oily slunk through gaps and holes

And hungered, waiting, poised and cold.

He shivered, waited,

Leapt and pounced

And found the chickpeas,

Struck them out.

They made straight for his sharky mouth

Like slippy fish in desperate flight

Meet feline darkness black as night.

Frozen super master race

Peas are green,
Peas are round,
Peas in the freezer
Don’t make a sound.
(At least that’s what most people think,
But if you watch you’ll see them wink).
They’re a frozen-super-master-race,
Descended down from outer space
(Well, suburb space to be pedantic,
But mention that, they’ll grow quite frantic,
So I feign awe at their credentials
And marvel at their green potential).
They’re waiting for the ice age thaw
To rule us like they did before.
In the dead of night I hear them trill
“We’ll get out soon, I’m sure we will.”

Words, in no particular order

They roll so droll
And uncontroll
My Surest why would oysters still
Deplore the noise the stagnant nose the hedgehog hedging pose desposed to argue trice the trove behest delpored I snore it smote it smite it oat it pay me more then I shall
Note it
Joyless they advance the queen:
stinking, thoughtless splint broad bean and suet crystal sprint
And custard.
And spinnet.
Divinest grip
And podgy pip and leaby grip
And gripe water slaughter
Eater laughter
Precious flight and fudge grip daughter
Once it clipped
And clumped the phrase aloft
The frigid jelly slop.
And lop it flop it flip it soft
And still and empty frigate loft.

Ode to the cellar, or holy brolly

I dwell alone in a skull of bone,
It’s dank and dark,
I call it home:
A basket, case,
I’m off this trolley,
Ancient rack and holy brolly.
I rattle round this.
I’m a stone,
A fossil grown in shoes of bone.
I’m dry and rattle moisty feet,
They jump and squizzle, seek relief.
I ossify.
They mossify.
This dull drum skull skin’s stretched too tight.
The waterpuss is out tonight
And lapping at my ears and feet,
You never know here what you’ll meet:
A cellar-dweller,
Bony fella,
Rattle-battle skele-teller.
A fat rat-rack,
So juicy sweet,
The rarest vintage you will meet.
A glassy mirror, sea of peas,
I glaze in awe on bended knees.
I can’t get up, I’m frozen solid,
Musty air drifts round me.

The penguin court

I come before the penguin court,
They’re kind of meaner than I thought.
They glare upon me once again
With flappy feet and fishy brains.
One slides towards me on his belly,
And leads me to a giant jelly.
It’s slimy and it’s green, of course
(The penguin leader’s voice is hoarse).
My sentence is to step inside,
You can’t run but you can hide.


I walk on turtles through the night



I walk on turtles through the night,

Through pea-green waters, faded light.

They raise their weary heads and glint

Or chuckle, rumbling turtle thinks

And gingerly I balance on

My barefoot feet

Grown tough through ages long,

And twisty turtle routes and roads

And flying fish and croaking toads.

Til salty, I begin to pickle,

The turtle tongues are slick and tickle

Leather feet and gnarly toes

And ballet-balance aching bones.

“You’ve been this way before”

They mutter

“Here she is, the same old nutter,”

Then shouty-crazed like aged drunks

They argue long about my feet

And whether really we did meet


Debate my now diminished bulk,

With some victorious, others sulk

And swear that someone other trudged

Their road of

Flying fish and croaking toads.

I pause one turtle to each foot,

Look back along the route I took,

The moment’s indecision dies

I carry on against the tides.

Behind me turtles croon and sing

some David Bowie, then some Sting.