april 15th

a poem about unbranded flying discs



at my high school
i attained a level of cool-
ness for a few fleet-
ing moments and my feet-
balling skills were limited
so im grateful to whoever initiated
tv coverage of the sport of ultimate
(dont say frizbee, its copyright)
leading to the sort of craze
that sweeps through schools for a very few days
those ultimate battles on a sunny school field
i was briefly prized for being marginally more skilled
at chucking a ten inch circle of plastic
and i was never picked last - it
was miraculous
and i still recall that buzz
every time i stand
on grass with disc in hand
and drill a perfect pass
flat and fast
or a long gentle sweeping bend
or hovereing tantalisingly above a friend
it really is typical of my luck that
one of the few things i dont suck at
is no longer much revered
respected or admired by peers

april 14th

a poem about stale buns


here were stale hot
cross buns so what
can we do to give them purpose
do ducks eat buns
who knows, but fun
may ensue in finding out
its not a long
walk to the pond
and will get us out of the house
so off we went
to experiment
with scientific gain our aim throughout

moorhens love buns
pigeons glean crumbs
geese like easter treats which they devour
ducks are overfed
on the stale bread
of those whose bed
was left much earlier than ours

april 13th

a poem about hitting the wall



i knew when i started
this project that the time
would come when it got hard, it
came and suddenly i'm
struggling scrabbling
mentally rummaging
trying to find a tiny
speck of inspiration in my nee-
dlessly empty day
ive noone to blame
but me - if i want sentences
i must force myself to have experiences