The prune and the pea

A prune lay shrivelled all alone,
Full of juice she picked the phone
(a phone box, dingy, dull yet dry
Beneath the dreary Bexhill sky).
She dialled the number, plain to see,
She tried to reach her call, the pea.
She wittered on and whatted so,
Her thoughts flew fast, her life was slow.
The pea responded, thoughtless quick.
His voice was honey, oil slick.
The prune grew drier day by day,
pea couldn’t hear a word she said.
The moral of this story is:
Fruit and vegetables just don’t mix.


Badger soup and pea surprise

Normalise, normalise
Standard issue, standard size
Normalise, normalise
Not too stupid, not too wise
Rationalise, rationalise
Badger soup and pea surprise
Rationalise, rationalise
Look a pilchard in the eye
Categorise, categorise
Bake your blazer in a pie
Categorise, categorise
Take some words and make them sky
Float them kitewards, make them high.

The Pea Man

The pea man works in a tucked away nook,

Where no-one goes and no-one looks.

If you get too close his breath is peaty,

He is, to be honest, rather creepy.

Those that have seen him think he’s a vision,

If they ever speak out they are met with derision.

His pupils are green and his eyelashes grassy,

If you try to make small talk he gets a bit arsey.

He never wears blue as it clashs with his hair,

I think he is probably not quite all there.

He rolls through time making plans and plots,

I think he’s there but he says I’m not.


Pea soup

You hooked me, cooked me,
Put me in a blender.
The sad thing is,
You probably don’t remember.
You hounded me and rounded me,
And put me in the jug,
Then pushed the button,
And drank me from a mug.
Down I went like a spider down a drain,
And then on a wave of vomit I came out again.

Ernestina (vacuum cleaner) and the maverick woodlouse


Dadabot cosy, Dadabot free.

Dadabot inside his green glass pea.

Dadabot neither hot nor cold,

Dadabot slowly growing old,

Dadabot feeling nothing much,

Dadabot seeing green and such.

Dadabot remembers a beautiful girl,

Who made his heart spin and his circuits whir.

Dadabot wills her to re-appear,

Ernestina draws slowly near.

But her lustre has gone and her trajectory is clattery,

She’s stuffed with dust and dead (like a used up battery).

Ernestina has clearly been around,

Rumours of her depravity abound around the town.

Her bag is full of unspeakable dust,

And she bulges in places, and reeks of rust.

Ernestina’s colours are dull and faded,

She’s rickety and slow and her suction is jaded.

Dadabot sees and Dadabot hears,

Ernestina now is the Ernestina of the years,

And a maverick woodlouse creeps out from the bag,

As her eyes are filled with longing and her shoulders sag

To see dadabot has holed himself up in a pea,

And all too plainly, it was never meant to be.

The weasel and the pea


The least beast weasel grates on the nerves

Of stoats in coats,

When there are cluttering colanders

To consider.

Boats edge moats,

They floats.

The oily water laps

Taps turn and fill,


My head is like a sieve full of peas,


Dead bees

And cheese.

The least beast weasel greets the lost pea,

The one that got away.

They have not got much to say

To one another

For one is a weasel

And the other is pea.

The weasel considers and then delivers his verdict,

The pea deserves it.  He’s heard it

But not absorbed it.

He’s glad, in a way, for freedom is kinda lonely,

Especially when you’re the only


Slow shrivelling death by drying.

Is the verdict.

The least beast weasel grates and greets,

And the pea is squashed beneath his pitter patter feet.