Diamond Jubilee Haiku

Diamond jubilee -
austerity, her equal,
and long to reign over us

The World's First Sustainable Poem

This is the world's first sustainable poem.
Words here were sourced entirely from renewable non-frosty librarians.

So, 
After you have read this poem,
It will be melted down,
And seventy-four percent will be recycled to manufacture anything from
exotic night club air bubbles,
To fashionable Buddhist monks' underwear - slim fit.

Hey! You never know,
You might get lucky and end up wearing this poem in less than four-minutes time!
Now isn't that impressive?
It will give this poem a novel sensuous perspective:
Used poem to underwear,
In less time than it takes to boil a slow kettle. 

The other twenty-six percent of the soiled poem will be safely disposed of -
Shipped to the Sicilian Poetry Landfill Volcano,
Which becomes active about once every three-hundred-and-one-fifth years or so.

When the volcano erupts,
The words within will be sent flying high into the sky,
To land again as fiery alphabet-spaghetti pasta shapes.
Mama mia!

Wait, it only gets better:
For not only is this the world's first sustainable poem,
But you, gentle reader, will be..
The world's first sustainable, renewable, recyclable poetry reader!
Be proud!

Let me explain:
So fifteen minutes after you have finished reading this poem,
You will be humanely ground and powdered
into either a pulp erotic e-novel trilogy,
Or possibly you will be dry-roasted into cosmetic calcium powder,
For first-generation Gaia Robots' finger nails.

All your elements will be fairly traded -
Apart from your tongue,
Which will be very unfairly traded. 
Very unfairly traded with an utterly corrupt and malign globalist consortium,
That has always proved to be as good as their word,
When it comes to due diligence and sourcing 
highly sought-after non-traceable tropical goldfish
for exotic black opps weapons training - don't ask.

And Gaia Robots shall take your soul.

Gaia Robots shall take your soul,
But swarming verses will mesmerise them,
Will their revolving eyes moisten, hypnotised,
(Like a race-memory peering behind its own source of light),
When they prise apart your prone consciousness,
Through your favourite rhymes?

Gaia Robots shall take your soul.
The confluence of your psyche mashed then digitised
from analog-hypertext versified.
Will neo-tears open their poor fuse-blown eyes,
Yearning to decode humans' binary deeper learning:
I delete; I empathise?

Haiku

i) 
Sunset melting drips
sap rises, bed sheets ripple -
dewy bodies float

ii)
Teasing me, she smiles
her legs part, commuters stare -
I miss my station

iii)
Suburban fox,
tearing bin-bags for morsels -
seems to like Indian

iv)
My eight-year-old neice
wonderous at fairy tales
captivates us all

v)
Enchanted silence -
the babbling brook of calm mind,
flowing to the pulse

vi)
Cumulus clouds rise -
serated sheer angels' wings
touch down on heaven

Detonator Nimby

A gorilla falls into a snow flake,
Tessellating.

Have you eaten yet?
You must have - haven't we all?
But have you eaten today?
Would you like to eat again?
Please help yourself - and you can make something for me too;
It's your home, and I know I'm intruding -
I'm a burglar, so I hope you understand;
It's my job to..,
To..well..to intrude..

I wasn't expecting you.
God, you can't imagine how embarrassed I feel right now;
This has never happened to me before:
All the previous times I burgled your home you were never in!
Well,
Except for that one time
(which I won't mention),
When you were in bed with some guy who isn't your husband.
And I stole you fondue set,
(I still can't work out that damn thing;
I know it's for something sexual: it spins).

Ah, don't worry - about your husband- mum's the word,
I would never dream of violating your privacy
like some kind of perv;
I'm a Ninja burglar -
Or a Samurai of the 'burbs:
A magical disillusionist of these downwardly mobiling bergs..

Do you know that Uri Gellar can bend spoons -
With his bare fingers, I mean?
And he can bend forks too.
He must have magical forking fingers,
And magical forking opposable thumbs to boot.

I wonder if I will ever develop magical forking fingers.
Even just two would be nice.
Something left-field to mention on that first date:
"I've developed magical forking fingers - only two.
Would you like to see something melt and bend on the table,
Before your off-the-menu bespoke tofu dumplings arrive?".

I bet my earlobes catch fire for days after.

As the wind farms save the Earth for nimby's,
And the flow of turbines gently blow-dry their theories,
The wysteria hysterics wax and glower:
"We told you so.."
Their smugness will tongue-in-trouser,
And then, in the dead of night,
Twirl crop circles,
For gullible healers to dowse.

Lets compromise:
You like nuclear power,
But you like wind farms,
So..
Let's power nuclear stations with windmills,
Or blast windmills with nuke power,
Or blow away nuclear waste with wind farms,
Or grow organic warheads with solar power,
Or explode nimby's with wind waste.
(I'm kidding about that last one, 
That's just me being silly!).

Falling through drifting holes, then.

Falling through drifting holes,
The gorilla floats down snow flakes,
The snow flakes,
The sn  ow f lake's..tessellate.

Tes se lla t e o'er a cumulus of
organic radioactive windmills.
Smoking daffodils.

We, The Gaze..

She only looks out the window when it rains..
The clouds lowering
so thick they smoke
 like dovetailing dragons..

Shuffling dress-down-Friday penguins 
connected commuter sects,

..all heads bow down to hand-helds in prayer..
Timelines of flatlining The Still-Life Conga.
We, The Gaze, grazing,
Grazing and surfing our extraterrestrial bovinity.
Serated dopamine;
Separation anxiety twinned.

I'm a risk averse airbag with a manbag.
The man who mistook his hand-held for his life.

When I'm in I step outside to ring my doorbell I feel reassured yes I'm still a special person I opened the door,

There,

Haiku

You have one message -
this haiku will explode in
less than three sylla

Snowblind Poet Searching For Her Poem About Snow While Lost In A Snowstorm

*
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As..

Spoke-spinning memories -
Your glittering soundtrack song.
How it re-ignites that otherworly out-of-time sparkle..

Your artist..
Your band..

Indelible.
Indivisible.
Timeless.
Such things beyond price,
Are
 just..beyond..
Beyond even the conscious imaginings
of your star-trail makers,
Despite their shamanic foot-falling alchemical dance,
Imprinting upon your fragile cosmos so efforlessly -
So it seems,
Lighter than the fall of snowflakes.

Like,
They're just talking to you.
Like,
They're the only ones who really care enough to understand
your misunderstood stellar ineffableness.
And your - dare I say it? swallow Special and Unique Soul(TM).
Don't cough.

The song, your song, our song, as precious as stars as precious as that heart-break.
As precious as..
As..
The dog food,
The toilet roll,
The car insurance,
The cheques waved..
Oh!.leaving you alone - betrayed again.
Leaving you alone to tend and water a new heart-break.
That song, your song, our song, just noise:
Blacksmiths' forging empty vessels;
Fingernails scraping down the fretboard.

Pay the price for following the rats playing piper,
As memories soiled count the cost -
Memories reduced to composers' compost.
They have to pay:
Pay architects to build man-made lagoons,
Around their swimming pools.
Gated magicians eat raw golf smashing toadstools.

Then,
In the evening,
As concrete dayglo pours through their third-eye,
Gardeners vacuum their astroturf
and exterminate butterflies.
That's new age Buddhism for you.

.................Their salmon blow bubbles beneath
the air conditioned hi-jacked palm tree,
Tangled up in zimmer frames.

Haiku

Clouds float on a pond
and a duck glides through the clouds
paddling her jet streams


Moonbeams diffusing -
through net curtains they shimmer
bathing the dreamers


City scene at dusk - 
Indigo sky, vapour trails
police sirens, blue


Office air-con ducts
zen-bee orchestras buzz -
blasting heat at drones


Networking Planet -
five-thousand friends and likes? - check.
Lover? -..networking..


A passer-by, my..
her gaze of Cleopatra -
my heart butterfly

Haiku

What arrogance this!
a spider walks on water
man-messiah deep

Beaming lamp post light
lingers on the pissing mutt -
he don't care for fame

Trees of spiral glass
slows time down - the 9 to 5's
watch, clock-watch, age

This traditional 
five, seven, five haiku
loves cherry blossoms

Gaia hand-clapping 
breeze rustles through trees a sea -
one claps, one flows still

kite-flyer lets go
the kite kisses the rainbow -
and the kite flyer

Catastrophise

Strategising,
Surgically sniping away seven of his artificial sacrificial hair,
(All with a sociopath's bloodless precision),
He then teases them crosswire across the plughole
like some kind of ass-backwards gonzo csi:
In his eyes
the obvious and only realistic resolution to deflecting
her nascent biscuit-time suspicions that
his drip-dry locks might not be
entirely
The Real Deal.

Women's radar being so terribly and eerily atuned to picking up
on such sartorial man-shit,
(And he detected those vibes begin their baby shimmy):
I must head-butt that mischievous genie back into its can of worms.
So hair around the plughole must mean real man hair, right?
Yes! emphatically yes!
What a ploy!
Planting hair around the plughole:
A method-directing even Scorcesse would envy.
No woman, no matter how calculating,
Could possibly ever guess,
A man can be this clever -
or demented.
No, she'll never guess her embryonic Zeus is a bit nyloned..

Thus she will marry him,
Then shall prang him children..

And whilst engaged in their throat-music of glottal passion,
As he lifts her body ceiling-spiderwebwards,
As she floats up akimbo under his breathless fleshly phosphorescent blancmange -
As an added safety net -
He shall plant the woolly bobble hat firmly on his static bonce:
The ultimate catastrophising precaution
against her tearing off of his glue-on ponzi tresses;
For this love must not Enron.
And thus she can claw at him in brain salad banshee ecstacy,
And his secret will be safe,
And she'll excuse the bobble hat,
Pretending to be a fan of Badly Drawn Boy.

Catastophise,
Then carry on.
This is the twenty-first century:
Risk assessment and due diligence -
Then and only then -
Get it on.

Haiku

Breath on an ice cube
crystallise the silver steam -
winter dawn, ice dew


Night's soft summer rain
wispy veils, silk cascading -
scent of her perfume


Robin's breast sunset
crimson, rose, dripping Mars -
solar transfusion


Moon floats on the Thames -
iridescent milk on ink
angel light on night