Author: Mike Crowl

HA! UTE stuck in gutter, like knife in butter, my
TALONs sharp and bitter, my brain a nutter, so
WEEDY is my frame, I have to name as
SNAKY all with fame, denigrate their clutter.          

FLOWN are all my muse’s musings; I
SALVE my sadness with a sigh, and
WATCH the blank page turning blanker;
GRAPHic nothing strikes my eye.

When a friend called some church choruses VAPID
People in the congregation would get RATTY. They’d
DRAPE their minds in a movement rapid, though
FRAIL pale words and music will drive one batty.  

SPURN the making of my bona fide
MOCHA, will you, mocker! And
LAUGH because I call my café Alpha to
OMEGA, you eater of alfalfa.           

               

TRACK is back and so is
LUPUS. Seems to me they’ve been before.
WRING’s an old friend, as is
PRICE. Chase these repeats out the door!

À
HAUTE voix I announced that I’d have no further
TRUCK with my son (aged 40) playing with Lego when
MECCAno was good enough for me (!) In my fervour the
NURSE led me away, while I (non-literally) vent my spleen.   

^{à haute voix: aloud, out loud}

The
VIRUS is a huge, seal-like mammal with great long tusks;
it doesn’t eat rusks.
WATCH is what I do when I get up in the morning
or else from Ma I get a warning.
KNOWN is the statue in the garden, broken,
for which I ask its pardon.
FLUME is what it’s like at twilight, before the night,
when apparently the bed bugs bite.

GHOST of Summer still felt in the incipient
REIGN of Autumn, the footpath below stained
MOSSY – Slippery When Wet, as the signs say. The
TIMER of Winter isn’t far from signalling its alarm.

The
SWASH tends to push the shingle up the beach – I
CHECK each day how far it’s come, seated in my
HOVEL, using a rule of thumb, not counting each of the sea’s
CARGO of pebbles, though each is individual.

I’ve led a life that’s black and white BANAL –
so cheesy – women, drugs and BOOZE;
but now I choose to change henceFORTH:
I’m off into a joyous Cinerama sUNSET.