Poetry from Ian Allaby



scheming, pouring potions, weaving wily words

circling the cerulean planet

planning, plotting, persisting

until at last some fatal vernal cosmo-teleo-blast

propels me, hurtles me

down down down

faster nearer faster nearer faster

till my thermo-armor melts in the searing sparks of the all-disdaining aura of the moth-cremating upper dazzlysphere

and my dura-dyno-wingtips crumple in the turbulation of the semanto-flagellic tendrils of the hyper-yakkityband

and my accu-sensors fizzle in the oleo-plasmic blur of the holy family-festing in the hollows of the humdrumityderm

(parachute! where’s my parachute?)

and my neo-electro-circuits flicker in the shattering reverb of the haunted ethno-echoes of the paleo-obligatum stratum

and my astro-motors sputter in the swirling hypno-quicksand of the kohl-eyed slammo-shutto of the valentine-bespangled larmo-ladyrinth


smooth as an arrow gliding

like light beneath the door sliding

awed and exultant i enter once more

the endorpho-morpho-phano-blastic core

of the moist flowerpot centre

of the naked molten essence

of the hub

of the hidden sacred part

of the secret satin city of your ever-loving heart