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DINGHY

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LETTER TO MY FUTURE EDITOR

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I'LL GET A NEW 

             AMP 

Haiku in the Sports Wash

 dull and dirty stripes

we plough blue stars are bright when

seasons come around

tint

 tint

 

the tintand

helllamented rose

lost therewill to sea

 

the coldsalt hew

gritwall punch of

thescented squall

 

stingrock aft

ropeburn aft

deadweight made

 

they succumbed to it all

 

insuch rotlog condits

the concentric terns

brasspolished afters

 

inconcrete wind

forced barpressure

for onemore might

 

peace was somehowsought

 

but in lowgrey fought

in lockfit inevitable

lampand glasstap that

 

sicklift shifts theneedle

to ever plummetset

these immensepated

 

in the whelming hue of doom

 

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OTHER TRAPS

CITY LONDON

       BIN CHAMBER DOOR

YOU'RE IN SMOKE

                              EXTRACTS

(One by One Drop) Six Bunch o' Fives

(back in the dentists'

waiting cleanitions

pull gloves with glee) he

was always turned out

laid long louche self backed 

to be put about

sniffed the poetry

police presence repped

and barked his new book

published under dog

section three on neck

and knuckle under

ragtime schmutter back

bent going straight from

the gut to the brain

to the out from the off

he forward roared snap

tight into refrains

of studs on concrete 

(clattering class was

never going to

go some kickabout) 

it battered Mitty:

'scuse me mate, you dropped

an aitch (a front row

sap who mixed arse with

elbow gob and hook) 

soon flopped on ropes dropped

by that one inch look

for Mark Thornhill R.I.P. 

Forty Foot Slice Tanka

pasty up Shoe Lane's
shadow reckons him body
builder in crew cut
glass factor 45 but
truth be told in cake and pie