Save Me Gravy - A Tanka

The pious pie us

With custard hangovers mash

With liquor thicker

Than the tie-knots of auction

Corpses by Christie's vicar

Pound for pound

The person spits the

Person eight

Stones throw from there

The change

Never comes

The crater in

The mini

Roundabout's 

The sound

We cannot

Wear

Pickle This

A day to remember.

Pickle this

Freezing cold weather.

A custom

To preserve this onion

In Baltic jar or

Gurkenglas.

Use for soup

That sits

That's klass.

One score n' eight

Ingredients as

There's an island

That wants

The cream turned sour.

Dill with it.

It's pickling hour.

Curtains - A Tanka

Cardsharps twitch in the
Hermitage practicing the
Darks arts of online
Gammon paper backing and
Putting rents up summat harsh

From these Spines, Aloof - A Book Title Cut-Up

The Moonstomp

is clean. 

Communism, 

the dream. 

Brilliant be the poems, 

on Alternative Street. 

Against the Mann

with the 

personal smile, 

these prison happenings

have an 

orange affair 

with the truth. 

As we tango

like penguins

in the darkness, 

a two-bob freedom

is best selected, 

from these spines,

aloof. 

Franciszka Themerson's Thoughts - A Tanka

City days endless

Talks with the bowler hatted

Businessmen who stick

Fascinating games of small

Talk issue avoidance tricks

Thee Slone Ranger

Thee Slone Ranger

Sums it up for me

Thee Slone Ranger

Gleefully pearling their signage

Let's go W.T.O.

Best Chelsea smiles

Alright for you

Chelsea smiles

For the rest us