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by Terry Brinkman



After the Return


Quickly we are all in after the return

Till it shuts tight over the yarn

Thanking his stars she a Yankee

She slammed the door so hard she broke her arm

Over external interest hanky

Slipper-slapper doodle right darn

Fear she looked lanky




a line, (a short blue one)



Bruiser Fern


Upper cut brisk exchange concern?

Fistic eglantine time with the jig yell

Drenched with water and the bell

Clewed amid tense discern

Don’t knock her Portobello Bruiser Fern

Not curving his weight covered her with caramel

Quickly got in after her return

Till it shuts tight passed over the yarn




a line, (a short blue one)





Weak wasting sigil hand

Lace fringe shore of the tide

Clambering countryside

Tide sheeting the lows of sand

Cakey sand dough hillside

Dumbwaiter Door’s jock-eyed

Mahamanvantara commend

Blue dusk nightfall

Shattered dumbwaiter’s glass

Bullock-be-friending sigil crawl

Pouter-Perfect shore’s overpass

Pit in the groin Snow-fall

Temporary insanity mustache




a line, (a short blue one)





Wiped again his razor blade to write

Kind voice of a poor dog’s man

Looked gravely at his butchers pan

Hair striped grey looks spiffy in the light

Gold points Chrysostom’s shadow tan

Prelate patron of arts bigger than

Plump Moon with its Smokey Blue starlight

Towards her displeased and sleepy vain

The top of the staircase laughter

Plump shadowed sullen oval jowl insane

Silence awls low whistle rafter

Held bowl aloft and in tuned profane

Turned his gaze from the sea to ever after



a line, (a blue one)


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