The MP for Flip-on-Sea

The streak of piss flipped

The trim switch this

MP for Flip-on-Sea for

The Party of Choked Progress

Fingered the food of thought

In the buffet of his bonce

In his constituency

And made himself a mess

Many more than once

He posted toasted dry cleaning bills

Through each door

Too lazy to knock upon

He sneered through pub windows

At those playing one downmanship

On his way the pharmacy for

Foreign bodies cures

And tablets pure as

Pure as driven swans

And lied about that too

And lied about it

Many more than once 

Orange Sauce

Withdraw a score n' Keep it peppered For the ducks round here Will keep it weathered Ever stone-faced sly Deny me pleasure But try it dry And with me Never 

11 Enemies of the People

Boris 
Boris 
Boris 
Boris 
Boris 
Boris 
Boris 
Boris 
Boris 
Boris 
Alexander Boris de Pfeffel Johnson

High-vis Dad

The parky bike

The high-vis dad

With his

Rough Trade bag

Organic growth

And childish time-lag

Sags

Beneath the weight

Of his own constraint

Longs

For Scalextric

Flintstones telly

Fish fingers beans

For his belly

Yearns

For interactions only

Football-shaped

And that

These

Be for him

The only actions

On his Beano

Dandy plate

Bots - A Tanka

The data needs now
Machine-gunning where there are
Cyclical sickle
Dreams that hammer the sleep of
Those who you can't figure how

Flaxen Klaxon

Slánte

Across the

Key to the 

Flaxen klaxon 

Tin tin's

A certain red

Blacksmithery

A red that's hot

That cuts as locks

Hot through
Tin tin's

Snowy bits within

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 used as

There's an island

That wants

The cream turned sour.
We're told,

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.