Violets

Our bright blue car,
A giant shimmering heart
With four liquorice wheels.
Beats a track around the coastline,
Listening to Puccini's Butterfly at top volume.
Three cases of good dark wine on the back seat;
The stuff that looks like wet terracotta and smells of violets.

Violets

Our bright blue car,
A giant shimmering heart
With four liquorice wheels.
Beats a track around the coastline,
Listening to Puccini's Butterfly at top volume.
Three cases of good dark wine on the back seat;
The stuff that looks like wet terracotta and smells of violets.

Poolside Paradiso

He's a foam-batterer

his brain hums the same pitch

as a hummingbird's wings.

Likes to dip his moustache in

egg yolk and scramble under the sun

on the lounger by his empty yellow pool.

Powders his toupee with chlorine,

and swims around in the exhaust systems of giant ships.

She is all straight edges,

has not one curve, and sits flush

against flat surfaces;

she was designed by a cubophile

robot who spends Monday to Friday

assembling cars for the Government plant

and re-soldering loose circuits in

artists' and civil servants' heads.

She sets crosswords for the dyslexic

and writes songs on her glockenspiel

for the orcas in Marine World...

The clock at Kidderminster flashes '18'

and the nuns from the convent on

the hill come sliding down on

one hundred bright yellow banana skins.

A moose, seeing them and aghast on hind legs standing, mutters something strangely intelligible for this hour, at which he's usually quite drunk.

Poolside Paradiso

He's a foam-batterer,
whose brain murmurs at the same pitch
as a hummingbird's wings.

He bends to dip his moustache in
egg yolk and scramble under the sun
on the lounger by his empty yellow pool.

Powdering his toupee with chlorine,
he dreams of swimming around 

in the exhaust systems of giant ships.

She is all straight edges and sits flush

against flat surfaces; being designed by a cubophile 

robot who spends Monday to Friday assembling cars for the Government plant

and re-soldering loose circuits in artists' and civil servants' heads.

She sets crosswords for the dyslexic
and writes songs on her glockenspiel
for the dolphins in Marine World.

The clock at Kidderminster flashes '18'
and the nuns from the convent on
hill come sliding down on
one hundred bright yellow banana skins.

A moose, seeing them and aghast on hind legs standing, 

mutters something strangely intelligible for this hour, 

at which he's usually quite drunk.