Frith Hilton Collection IV

Oxford dictionaries, wherever, ever near

“we thought the while, as we jointly peered”

chorused the Pears to the Apples in tears

“but it was a stumble” said the Pears stirred

“our dyad fall for an entry found nowhere.”

“It drove us batty drenched”

“we too, also we were hunt scared

with no whoop-de-doo in the atmosphere

strewed with no memory of our disconnect”

“but the young king arrived with a basket”

“he did,” “and with a book,” expressed the Pears

Pro hac vice!

“the Oxford entry of the day he had to learn.”

The wind hasn’t a thing to do

swinging boisterous and playful

parrying rapid, it pulls and swoops

and its lack of chores this proves.

Our fine bags hold our books

they all sing merci beaucoup

and with the round of thank you

our assignments ask: when to

tomorrow is Saturday, we should.

“What do we do this afternoon?”

hopscotch from room to room

let the tiles call out the right foot

for everyday, we hop and bloop

on the kitchen path for our foods

and you broke your plate and stood

. . . granny’s gift in pieces and frazzled

frozen like the cat from the cartoon.

You remain after meals, even soup

when I asked, you said, “I can’t move”

it’s fine little sis, my digestion is behoof

I’ll let you ride on my back, I’ll stoop

this sturdy bend doesn’t need a saddle

but it could be you eat a lot too soon

so before we leave, you should choose

for the ride, you’ll have the side muckle

if you don’t, it will leave me in a brood

remember how long you had it good

before we changed where we would?

yours was narrower and I’d always lose

for your end had no side-space or nook

but we had fun because I wasn’t ignoble

introducing Rappynarrow from our bubble

. . . at the new court, your points were fitful

so talks of the Olympics got you rankled

so sit, enjoy the ride; a medallist’s prelude.

“Send me airtime or else . . .”

“. . . or else what?”

final diminuting pelt

struck shuttlecock

hitting our heads

like poop, in ardour.

My thirty-three ten

shot up the spectrum

. . . an overweight racquet

and her voice was clear

remaining in our eardrums

even in the silence

as a brusque retort

to us . . . these children

and how far we were blunt

behind a phone and fence.

At the artisan’s atelier, life began

the trough forged the constant:

alibi hands in deceptive semblance

gnawing at the invariable guards

with tenable shanty cries shards

broken in their rise afloat crass

sleet drifts harking to the water

ever tumultuous, somerset bangs

dry rest; comforting upholsters.

Noodles is only for the pooh-bahs

say this, drizzle that, it’s known facts

they all can be executives and mothers

but not thriving young sweet toddlers

fidgeting, slurping, flummoxing criers

spicy feeling through their hearts.

A morn with a lot to do

they steer you forethought afoot

or ram you straight in ambush

sometimes it’s the sun with fast shoes

other times you’re seeming to not choose

here is one — thought is flanked with clues

pulling closer the ebullience of the noose.

With the plants watered and spruced

I sat pondering my rule over the roost

then I’d need something soon to chew

risotto, toast, frittata, à la carte mottled

I poured the oppy fluff slosh sum bottled

but a hot top-pan hit swack in a whoosh

a hatching mischief hollowing in the pool

actual clanks, creaks disrupting the groove

smacks and whacks, snuffing out my needle

three, two, one, the sprechgesang muddle.

Through the window, I see the ladder in a snug

with the walls to be coloured to my mind’s hue

and the palette’s primary being of peach fruit

the winning sensation of the options accrued

it was weeks ago, believing I had higher moods

and this could be tub-thumping in a way crude

but the painter’s level on the rung is uncouth

and the sensation he smears suffers droop

coming in, no thought of good morn a snoot.

His introspection would be flattery

he muses on trees, birds, and hymns

may seem to be human, but it’s a spin

his voice trails, but nowhere is he seen

and this day, it’s joy bathed kid-beings.

There’s a pack, courage, and an army

swamp, parallel conduit walls far trailing

we pick a side, and follow fate’s asperity

her paths are feet apart and appealing

the danger to her sides is entrammelling

so we skip the busy roads for her lonely

trip, you’re ditch bound, in, swamp seized

and we all knew the whet, whichever it is?

No one came down, not the adults I mean

and for anyone now, it’d be incriminating

by his prayers to end desires for the freak

they’d be anti-guardian angel with the wig

to be found is to have been wimpy as a kid

he said a prayer in his very careful edging

our directions opposite and never meeting

he was the only person in all our crossings

an adult, so he had to be guardian, angelic.

The headquarters got the orders

from where? no one dared utter

some wondered, some pondered

others just laughed in thunder

but none said to the other

a word, a note, any banter

of whose weight had mattered.

And suddenly their arrival

their number had us yappers

wincing, cackling even harder

“no way is this man the jack.”

he arrived in a suit with badge

arms not brawny hung a keister

he said little; few words richer

before heading for a dispenser

his cup held not a drip heavier

nursing it like the perfect mister

he’d come to cut off the branch

and from his arms to his fingers

they grew with the cup wrapped

dropping it upend on the counter

he slid it slow into an open thrash

the air about him was bossy daft

as he walked toward a chamber

he hit the door with a little smack

but the changing room door sat

we all were seated, as if in a gag

whispers unsure if we knew better

we all could get up; take a stand

but I was alone in the open-plan

I took my seat at the door bang

but I could not get my antsy wart

in there I thought about this man

his tie was gone in reappearance

he had done something to his hair

his left temple was cowlicked apart

he looked at me uncanny peculiar

it was a New York minute’s glance

you know those types; the cue start

soon we all heard the burr spatter

and a loud flump in a shush gnast

the branch had been severed flat

we all wanted to see him lift that

I wanted to see the tree in hacks

pieces of his labour in slue attack.

“Who are your parents?”

they ask

baffled by my tenets

all cack!

ideas from the west

how far

if you ever care to test

the bar

how they are never met

“Spider man . . .

I want his Spidey sense”

come hither

come see the son he beget

your prayers

squirl them with a pen

he answers . . .

and for three days I went

every command

steadfast, an adherent

till canned

and the revival saw an end.

Months after

in rêve of skyscrapers and webs

god whispered

as if, my faith, again to retest

I’d just barfed

again to his high benevolence

“a spider, hi dad

I want to spin webs, catch girls”

real fast . . .

“when you’re sixteen,” he said

“if it still whops.”

Sixteen came, I had a girlfriend

and it slapped

maybe I got milquetoast unfair

but duh!

Choose what closing the lid does

will you do nothing at all?

bring it to an end with the fall

do not play any songs

though I need you, I’m pretty sure

draw the curtains to the vicarious

I can hear you in auscultation

not with your ocean of visions

the non-stop pour by your shore

I can’t keep the screen on

when it’s something you’ve done

with the lights it feels like a door

I can’t go on; I don’t feel tough

this window in my mind won’t shut

but is this the darkness you warn?

howl in my ears, no flint or firedog

and if sleep comes

peradventure my bites it will spot.

Reading as a child made no sense

I mean, we all just got really tense

you’re by a little, and have a whacked, backed rest

it daunted

what are vowels?

how is this a sentence?

I had to seat for short tests

wait till the first mate in pretence

being older doesn’t veg the pretext

it is a lot everyone expects

and it is easy to fall when you’re the best

if you love consonants, and forget where you met

. . . it is the jewels

they aren’t found everywhere

so reading was fun by the wicket

I enjoyed titles I selected

best list to read before the bucket

as a writer, I can’t tell when this will end.

When the night is warm

it doesn’t pore break than the hug

and by every rainstorm

none shuddering that little rainfall

cold evening showers that damped love;

the hug that had floodlights pour.

Love meant poetry, songs, hugs, and trust

the maze of quarrels, and who is jealous

my letters under her pillow in her dorm

the weekend rituals of not speaking at all

peaking on Sunday morning’s attraction;

her best, looking like one of the fine adults

the mistress’ social engagement invitations

her heels and jewellery, my preppy uniform

seeing her beautiful, bonnie, and tall

it’d be hard to convince any joe I was more

you’d need to see her walk through the door

her classroom smile brushing theirs upward.

To be the man, it wasn’t enough

not next to the devil with her fork

she wore attitude and I was a snob

the only dance on our floor

that evening brought a clot

fleshed out our bleeding expression

the path route to comprehension

and like every phone call

it wasn’t unusual her action

she went off, and so did the clock

the minutes ticked by on our table top

our yellow circle table resembles a watch

she had my wrist; the time asked to come

I read again the last words she’d jot

the ghosting behind my own words

in the reading strain, her smile honked

and I thought up, of more ways flawed

as she’d claim, ungainly in the mirror

convincing she wasn’t of that notch

I couldn’t shake off her smell of musk

my thinking soon felt like a dirty job

so I stepped in the rain like she had done

following cobble stones where they implored

the darkness soaked in the rain in first blush

and the growing shiver raid made me pause

I was sure to hear her if she was in the radius

the light from her flip phone made my skin burn

as far from the rear of the car park as they went off

it’s when I noticed she’d been crying all along

the closing distance as I gawped

the vehicles’ windscreen reflections

they commingled to a nostalgic dock

one I visit with you tonight with a chuck.

My senses were picking up the obvious

. . . my first girlfriend was hurt

she walked past me in splashing clumps

and it was everything that was wrong

more clapping leaves from an open book in gust

like open books, my emotions flipped and turned

and she soon returned as if customary, as if by custom

her trickling tears held a resolve

and in our embrace, it dissolved

a shoulder to cry on

in one piece to her dorm in smock.

Quad ardour

the bells ring

the class can’t go on

bags zip

the teacher has her tempo off

but this isn’t real

not another minute’s lecture

she should get going

she tots up the bore

the seconds are screeching

tock, tock

only Hollywood films

our faces gesture

she’s losing the grip

quit this reality brawl

you don’t know what it is.

The rile in the grime

I smile when you whine

the afternoon is a slide

from the morning’s tide;

your piece of the day’s pie

what you fray always is time

in the fraction we sit to dine

how about we even the rhyme.

A little garden

sprouting farthings

an eve fair to partings

nattering earthlings

the bed holds for the morning

lined for doss ease

awaits its daily swill;

the gardener’s care cinch

it earmarks the weeds

contemplates however itsy-bitsy

the soil from uprooting

from the previous weeks;

returns, it sees clearly

her careful short wiggling.

The sun is slow trudging

blooming in its itinerary

the soil wakes the little weeds

they awake to serial munching

as if the night hadn’t ended brill

for days they nurtured haughtily

horticulture done airily

in the soil’s bosom they compete

guilt, with this round’s withering

they’ll appear back in a twist

they are the only good necessary

if plants and flowers turn over bad leaves

they are ferociously wild and mean

and make the most of the timing

the herbicides come and they sting

they pit the weeds in fighting

and cause the soil some hurting

maybe it’s fine; the soil is smiling

how they help it in its guard duty.

Rhymes like vines

coo, look, whose?

hemming, swirling

thoughts, plots, and such

with words that come

where the vowels travels

tenants with the consonants.

Get pots with soil

be sure of its humus

the crux is below its crust

prepare your seatbelt

get a pencil

catch a tune

up, up, up

it shoots from the root

it booms, zooms

it’s your rocket

it’s perfect

it rattles, don’t unbuckle.

Me a gauze, I could be insufferable

me arriving late could be intolerable

me between choices could be deplorable

me winning the lotto could be improbable

me throwing a fit could be unacceptable

me breaking the law could be unforgivable

me outside in a curfew could be applicable

me known as opinionated could be unsociable.

Hop the sound bus

feel free to discuss

in here, no rebuff

words fly like ping-pong

everyone responds

go on, be the chatterbox

remain with cute humour

leave the forsaken gall

hop the sound bus.

I am convinced

by far instilled

you can win

when you whisk

they don’t wink

eggs don’t speak

if you’re untidy

and there are spritz

there is spluttering

unlike eyes that see

they take no pupils

I see everyone frying

what are they saying?

mine says it’s ready.

Cuss words are hutched chores

always, you’ll see me hold my tongue

they are widely known stunts

and you’re lucky if you get caught

everyone thinks they retard expression

some welcome being very blunt

I think of it a very dirty ball

it’s pooh-pooh for thrash, so toss

it will have you in trouble’s clutch

and trouble smears you drabby coloured

I’ll give you two options

a drop in poop or fudge

poop, those words that won’t leave you stalled

when all is said and done

discretion is the better part of valour.

If you mean the picture

you will need some directions

along with helpful descriptions

ever been by yourself outdoor?

you’ll need a map, it is major

you can rely on the flock

as long as you keep with your intentions

do you need merely to be sure?

probably you have your instructions

but the obscurities are an intrusion

please ask the pressing questions

it is natural going by the network

these paths could be dead ends and blocks

I hope you enjoy the prefecture.

A journey starts

with the pen of a writer

an awful lot of scrimmage

a block on what he needs to say

there are crumpled letters

unserious doodles on papers

he has a backache

so he calls it a day

he rises and thinks back

oh, he is awful darn sad

but his bed is already made

none the less, he feels the same

it was all they had

how cold it’d be their past

a past of shared space

another bedroom, another place

if the words come together

what would they tell her?

. . . assuming they got mailed

but it is now too late

he also picked his last bags

he also left no numbers

tomorrow he will try again

and he will pay postage.

Allow me to take you along

oh, I must have a first

it must be covered now all over in dust

though I can’t take you where I show off

it is one of those things I dream of

a lofty desire, and to say what is more

my friend, it trades by the aisle of pious

how do I get you on a board of one?

have you by me, let you trade some bluff

it is strictly a matter of profession

I do my assignment, prepare for the meet up

I end the thing, having yapped like a parrot

a sleuth of tricks, to get em on the bandwagon.

Notice!

attention please

it has gotten to the police

walking the beat

there are fights when you practice

what’s the forethought to malice?

are your bags and pipes not at ease?

try today, have fun with the breeze.

My life starts

and no one cares

even in the stats

I’m no one’s heir

what do you think of that?

a man with no hair

he is neither Samson nor Delilah

he is a worm of the earth.

My breakfast streaks

are made of spaghetti

sometimes with celery

mum does a swift knitting

it entails more than is bitten

seeing us both in the kitchen

you’ll have a swell by my mitt.

Hams, if you ask me

to the point of that guarantee;

time it dutifully speaks

“these blades won’t go blunt” it promises

not on the devices, obviously

that would pass for a breach

also if irate . . . I send one a biff

what I speak of and mean

is what you get out of the sleeve

these cartons with nice drawings

if I could draw one with poetry

it’d be perfect and I’d sell it

to the other brands, it’d be a pity

for it would be totally jam free

with no sound signals to listen

throw in onions, mushrooms, and garlic

you’d endure absolutely nothing

just my beautiful careful blarney.

No man goes beyond

that border, the pond

only buoys.

Have you seen the man-mouse?

can you tell if he is in his house?

he’s never in his room, anywhere about

word is, he’s out always to browse

it’d be unlike a man-mouse to flout

these creatures once wound, only espouse

the need for more, and more; such louts

now he calls a poet, inquiring in doubt

“do you anywhere sense in my room roust? “

“oh I’m a poet sir, I’m of good renown

my judgements are spoken of in town

my bifocals have the best clarity around

you’ve done great and should be proud.”

I see myself a cup

a cup limeade stumped

I’m well in and fraught

I’m a poor cup, not a jug

you don’t feel any more

you take a sip and scrub

your lips touch me, that’s all

would you be kind to your tutor?

sugar, a cube, please drop!

The ones in a closed fridge

the happiness in misery

the blight in perspective

the swivel when you’re still

the nectar of instinct.

The criticism at large

is the highly pitched pah

cos if we all danced

your honour, and I’m bad

my move then must be fad.

There is a flock of worm

hoping for feathers and wings

if they get legs

they hope they come with boots

“this mufti should fit”

some said looking at a skin’s hide

“it’s got hoofs”

…

“those are no good”

“if they don’t come with shoes”

the queen addressed

“do you see shoes?”

“have the snake hide antennae?”

…

“oh we should move on”

…

“it’ll take a while

the big sea is our only bet.“

Everywhere we go

we throw a pose

it’s always been so

from days of old

“we made the internet explode”

that’s what we sold

it was the implode

oh they poked

“you aren’t the folks”

“this is screen and smoke

you didn’t make the radio

not any good shows

can you remember a toll?”

the ballyhoo from foes

from it a lot follows

our fans still dig our lows.

A heartbreak is as simple

its beauty comes with a dimple

over the same words, we fumble

she, who is the trouble

for her, I am moved quadruple

and I say it, I will booze

here is where she pulls

a roundabout on soldier shoes.

The introduction hasn’t a thing to do with it

those are just lines that meet

it’s hard here starting a beef

I try but I never win

you should try, though bitty

I always started from between

it could be bad advice, you see

but it’s criss-cross, it’s a thing.

What do you prefer?

is this what you deserve?

always a little unnerved

with lengths of will to be discerned.

I can’t say a thing

nothing to pass as effective

but could it be

what you see

how you miss

presumptions, evasive

hankering lack of gutsy

how do I help you read?

aptitude for the choppy

milk for babies

babies digesting veal

win before the wean

take it or leave it

as the birds and the bees.