pistol of sonnets

I wake up and wander,
take ages to relax.
Now laying on the grass
waiting for a silver machine to swish by
in sweet silent session
from a hazy town with hackles
to country sunshine
with a lot more dapples.
It's another length of water
in the same river bed.
in this pasture then,
the cows are chewing and mooing,
on the city banks the dogs are dead –
stiff legged, they float,
like the little joke
from three men in a boat.
Don't drink the water
it's got mercury, lead
and Pluto in it.
In the country though,
we've got poetry,
tanks and soup.
So take these stanzas, rip and frolic,
let the children come or stay.
Let us meet, wringing in love
humming with bluebells and Shakespeare
singing his ripples on harmony’s shore.
Row, row, row your boat
gently down the stream,
merrily-merrily, merrily-merrily,
life is but a dream.
Letting go is easy
with the sun in broken pockets
happiness is a cold gun
and a pistol full of sonnets.