ponderous poetry for the hoi polloi




With expectancy does my belly ache,

A not too pleasant knot eased only by daybreak,

For tomorrow’s child is today’s heartache,

But I’ll never stop loving you.


Smokey bacon, cumberland,

Porco due, oh far from bland,

M’eyes bigger than m’pork belly, belly bigger than my ‘ands,

You’re smokey bacon, girl, and I’m Sir Cumberland!


Canterbury bells

Keep your eyes peeled for Canterbury bells,

In purple whirlpools that’s where she dwells,

With kisses as light as feathered tails,

She’s all I could ever want.


So loyal is she to the springtime breeze,

That I’ll never part from her basal leaves,

Ensconced in sconces I wish to seize,

She’s all I could ever want.


With redolent breath she whispers to me,

“Six more days, my love, and we’ll be as close as can be”,

And I’ll wait for the chimes to end this misery,

For Canterbury bells are not just what I want,

But all I ever need.


(and more, and more, and more…)


Panna cotta, parson’s green,

In envious sleep come envious dreams,

For jealousy comes in gelatinous screams,

Cursedly stealing my mind.


Pink peppercorn, ham hock terrine,

Viscidity spoils these teeth so clean,

But savoury hearts deserve the sweetest of creams,

When bitterness returns back home.


Strawberry, blackberry, take your pick,

And despite too much jelly I’ll never be sick,

Of this tutti frutti arithmetic,

Which makes my heart soften with joy.


Ninnina mia.


Behind black sapphire blankets I dream of romance,

Around stricken matches Luna Moths do dance,

And I’ll pretend that this is all happenstance,

When I wantonly want only you.


Across amazonite ponds I’ll give in to chance,

Faced with beauty so blinding I’ll dare to glance,

And pretend that this is all happenstance,

When I wantonly want only you.


Beyond beryl is her countenance,

From great green gestures to hypnotic trance,

To pretend that this is all happenstance,

Is absurd, my love, and I hope you don’t mind,

That I wantonly

Want only



Ultra-violet cannonball,

Ultraviolent aerosol,

One smacker which smacks of ethanol,

Does discourage me from sleep.


Ultramarine turns to gold,

Submachine gun light to hold,

Two smackers which smack of ethanol,

Do discourage me from sleep.


Ultrasonic melodies,

Gin and tonic-fuelled elegies,

Three smackers which smack of all of these

Do discourage me,

Of all people would you believe,

From the sleep I so desperately need.


p.s. in actual fact, all I desperately need is you.

Stand at ease!

I want to be that man who with a

Word can shave miles from your


To easily ease the unease,

Fermenting like gone off milk in her fraught



For I want to be that man who with a

Whisper can save the almond blossom

From the ruthless rain,

And easily ease the unease,

Brewing like an Atlantic storm in her melancholy



Mind you, I want to be that man who with a

Smile can stave off the barbed tail of the


And I’ll easily ease the unease

Forever melting like snow in my doting




Shapeshifter, middle-lane drifter,

How this Blu-tack brain of mine sure does miss her,

Her eyes, her ears, her nose…

While my head is busied with thoughts like

Railway replacement buses,

Overwhelmed with weary commuters,

Daily disputers,

Husks of humanness…

How unfair is the funfair when the fun is so far



But still I won’t give up!

(Oh no!)

And cherry-pick the moments which mean the most to


Of holding your sweet face in my hands again,

With as much love as Daphne odora does hang on to her

Flowering faces,

For though the faraway funfair is so frightfully unfair,

My mind is an endless carousel and every

Horse I ride is you.

Telephone torment

What madness are these

Midday moments of misery?

When my ears go deaf from the sound of

Faceless tears

Sent back in time from foreign fields and

Familiar mouths I long to



What madness are these

Midday moments of melancholy?

When lonely yowls do make me feel as blue as

Monsieur Majorelle’s fingertips,

Held against pneumonic lips,

Which match the colour of my toes



What madness are these

Midday moments of malaise?

When anxious nails scratch at these itchy feet,

As the phantom chilblains burn more fiercely than

Jaipurian suns,

How I long to




Create a website or blog at

Up ↑