I was really only passing through…
I was really only passing through
When I hit the sign saying, “Welcome to
Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch”.
Of all the destinations, both near and far,
Why did I have to crash my car,
In Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch?
Insurance claims are very tough
And none of the gaps were big enough,
For Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch.
So, car drivers please take my advice,
When searching Wales for a place that’s nice,
Try Rhyl!
From Upsetting the Apple Cart CD published by Offa’s Press
I’m Maturing as a Poet
Immature poets imitate; mature poets steal – T. S. Eliot
From The Apex Hotel
in Edinburgh
(room 221)
I sneaked out
two towels
the free shampoo
complimentary jelly beans
a rubber duck
I found in the bathroom
and this poem.
Previously published in Fire Magazine and by Offa’s Press on the CD Upsetting the Apple Cart
Glut Reaction
She’s diced and she’s cubed and she’s fried,
she’s boiled and she’s baked and she’s tried,
her damnedest to use up them all,
but boxes stack up in the hall.
She’s flambéed, she’s devilled, she’s jammed,
she’s curried, she’s chutneyed, she’s rammed
down throats in risottos and pies.
She really is up to her eyes.
She’s pickled, she’s roasted, she’s spiced,
she’s distilled, she’s toasted, she’s sliced.
She’s desperate and can’t abide waste
but her family is sick of the taste.
So neighbours be warned and beware,
I’ve heard she’s decided to share!
Bolt the doors, then hide behind nets.
She’s coming! She’s bringing courgettes!
Previously published as a Poetry on Loan post card
How Bilston and Battersea Enamel Seconds are Created
Dot, dot, beak, beak,
I load my brush
dot, dot, beak, beak,
from the pot
dot, dot, beak, beak,
of mustard yellow
dot, dot, beak, beak,
paint flowers
dot, dot, beak, beak,
centres only
dot, dot, beak, beak,
and the birds
dot, dot, beak, beaks,
only.
Dot, dot, beak, beak.
pass on the lid
dot, dot, beak, beak,
to the girl next door
dot, dot, beak, beak,
she’s better than me
dot, dot, beak, beak,
she’s allowed to swirl
dot, dot, beak, beak,
she paints a leaf
dot, dot, beak, beak,
a tendril, a curl
dot, dot, beak, beak
in emerald green
dot, dot, beak, beak,
she’s glamorous
dot, dot, beak, beak
and not cack-handed
dot, dot, beak, beak,
like me.
Dot, dot, beak, beak,
I wish I was her
dot, dot, beak, blob,
oh god.
From the Nailmakers’ Daughters – Offa’s Press
Emmie and Arthur’s Honeymoon, June 7th 1931
The earth really did move for them
in that B & B in Bewdley.
6.1 on the Richter scale,
the bedroom positively rocked.
Elsewhere, chimneys tumbled
and Doctor Crippen’s head fell off
at Madame Tussauds in London.
Shaken they scurried back to Sedgley,
never again to venture anywhere
further than a bike or scooter ride
away. No good could come
from not being home in time to light
the greenhouse paraffin lamps
or cover the canary. No good at all.
From The Nailmakers’ Daughters – Offa’s Press
Only Child
thwacks
ten
nis
ball
ag
ainst
house
wall
for
ow
uh
af
ter
ow
uh
til
fed
up
dad
takes
and
con
fis
cates
racqu
et
to
stop
rack
et
From The Nailmakers’ Daughters – Offa’s Press
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