Let the leaves fall and tumble to the ground.

Let the leaves gather and crumble all around.

Let the leaves wither and settle in a pit.

Bring along a donkey and add a plop of s**t.

Eat a bite of apple and bury half the core.

Sprinkle on some water, and then a little more.

Wait for half~a~dozen years until you get a crop.

Come back with that donkey and cart them to the shop!



Cat and Moon

Wild cats prowl in the jungle.

Big cats prowl in the zoo.

But when pussy-cats prowl down dark alleys,

you should know a thing or two

about the nature of their hunting

– hunting rats…and mice…and birds.

To imagine they’re discerning

is – by nature – quite absurd.


Toast on plate

He muttered as he buttered : “God!…where did that knob just go?

It was solid for a moment while I scraped it to and fro!

                               “It was creamy, rich and lovely and it looked like yellow silk

                                 then it thinned away to nothing, melting into lemon milk.”

One-can’t-eat-one’s toast-and-butter when the butter’s not on top

and the butterer’s uncertain if he buttered it or not.

                  It causes problems with the jamming.  Should one jam – or should one wait,

           then add more butter as a topping when the toast’s cooled on the plate?


Swinging girl

I could sit in a bower

like a lonely wallflower.

I could read in a bower

for an hour.

I could withstand a shower

with a bit of will-power

in my ivory-tower

of a bower.

It would be a brave chap

– for he’d risk a quick slap –

if he had a mishap

and fell into my lap

as I took a quick nap

while I blocked out the crap

in my drowsily flowery bower.


Neutron Stars

Two neutron stars collide

with a heavy-metal boom

rockin’ down the universe

a billion years too soon…

   ‘n we’re surfin’ on the after-shock,

pullin’ gravity waves,

catchin’ gamma-radiation

for a killer-nova rave.




Mostly, when I purchase things

and carry them back home,

I empty out my shopping bag

as soon as I’m alone…

to find that’s not the end of it

– I have to start to sort

boxy-packs and cellophane

from all the things I’ve bought.

Then, when I’ve ripped away at wrappers

four-five layers deep,

I cop the blame for chucking stuff

I wasn’t meant to keep!



If I shot off to space in a rocket

what would I carry from earth?

Would I take all the rhymes of a rapper?

Or the bling that a rapper is worth?

Would I carry a rose, or a mango

…some seeds…and an elephant hair

to re-grow a quirky menagerie

for company while I’m “out there”?

No – I’d rather take bottles of memories

with snifters of musk and champagne

to remind me my robot controllers

can’t fathom the best of my brain.




Someone accidentally re-titled the website-heading on last week’s ‘umbrella’ poem…into

Tamil script.  The detached umbrella image subsequently googled off on its own – even as

far as to an Icelandic site!  So I need some international help to restore its provenance.

Anyone?  Thank you in advance.  It belongs back with its original eco-news-e-verse