Monthly

 March or die, April or bust, May travel West, June eat the dust,  July there's no rest, even in August, September is another test, October turns to rust, November wear a vest, December is a lust, January go away, February is just.

Rings of the waves

 There were heart songs

Singing on the radio

Mulled wine brewing by my elbow

Culled dogs lying in the window

And shores sleeves blended into shadows

There were sick sucks stunning in the Bilbo

Mill streams rubbing on the rainbow

Bring boat burbling in the dingoes

Howling at the heat of the shadows

Stinging in the knees and the Nando's

Trailing on the pea body and the big toes

Shooting Red Indians by the Cowboys

Hollering round the wigwams of Geronimo

Saint Suds with potatoes dud

Fortran  concluded yellows

Shoals of fish in the shallows

Synthesized wishes of the willows