Grimbeau

Scroodles

Caress

Adorned by
cyber
voices motley
upon the streaming air
exhaled by Ogma Sun face
plain as a brass pike staff in yer face
see the boss aint got no dainty threads on
bare arsed as a new born twerp shouting orders
to court assasins in boreal greek and latticed latin
burbling on in unknown tongues lip dancing codeine potions
compelling inebriate states to poach small town chickenshacks

Equinox

sensuous concrete
palaminos oversee
high rise meadows

(Isaiah).

Asceneofanewandastonishingnaturethenpresenteditselftomy

view. All the people and nations of the globe, every race of men

fromevery differentclimate, advancingonall sides,seemed toas-
semble in one inclosure, and form in distinct groups an immense
congress.Themotleyappearanceofthisinnumerablecrowd,occa-

sionedbytheirdiversityofdress,offeaturesandofcomplexion,ex-

hibitedamostextraordinaryandmostattractivespectacle.

Mauve tuesday is a rum day,
a bin day, a drab day
a humdrum day
laden down cumbersome
by protocol and melancholia
thus it must
commence with an immodest nosebleed
or a writhing mit of pitted prunes
elsewise
it simply is not worth its salt
nonetheless
wanderers returned from the huzun night
find it irresistible

Low Jinks and Crystal Sets

tuesday is a dumb day, a bin day, a drab day
a day laden down with protocol and melancholia
it must commence with a modest nosebleed
and a mit of shrivelled pitted prunes
or it is not worth its salt
solitary wanderers in the huzun night
find it irresistible

Warblings from some Distant Spring

Musk demilight– aqua, orchid, tourquoise,
bent over hoodwinked by a flighty moon
reach out to open optimistic windows
admit dunnock chirps & sample crisp ballooning air;
early worms watch dullard ghosts bow out
to head for air conditioned hulks;

silverfish hold out for frigid Juul tides,
white riders & twilit oceansides beg
time out for prearranged red handshakes
in vacant dayglo barns;
many is the slip twixt cup and lip
impatient to get on with it.
It! That meretricious pip.
May had its seventeenth today,
shrunk glorious summer down
to cheap sausage pork,
and in its putrid air a natal
rain exposed a summer still born,
A maid unaware craved its drains to roam,
its culverts to clog―
Saw red rain fell over the temple,
Developed an inability to spit,
And bore witness to a teal sky
Crowded out with bluebirds.
Omens abound like cliches come sweet dusk.

A shootist lazily rakes the gallery
A spotty little herbert called Anomie
Made to menace Venice
Jeopardised the tennis
Liberté, égalité, Débilité –

Close to tears on rising:
an invisible hornet bugs you
you open a velvet blind
What is it that chastises?
Is it a far off chainsaw?
Wash the scuff away
Regret another curfew day
Showered down thorough.
Spent time writing proper.
Fucked it up. Corrected. It worked!

All of this comes to you thanks to a power shower
I stood on one leg blindfold intoning
‘I don’t wanna know her’,
a little keyhole waltz if you will
recounting old times in the Ozarks
Cussing our imaginary friend Zillard.
The lies flow outrageously as spring flood water…
a hot scrub is the prelude to a crisp neo-write supremacy:
A thousand tweets a day and soon you’re washed away.
Like a one legged Willy Lomax, a legend in his own body waste,
wisecracking as he vaporises in a steamy void

Begin over with the goat stew she left out on the table
The cord flex dangling idly in the cavernous hall
The fabulous smell of oily tuna permeates the bamboo wall
Losing a grip of the catchy word makes you chippy
flitting like a teasing fly
The mocking phrase that slights the cliche
Line by line the words drip dry.
Sure now this is nowhere you’re free.

Freewheelin’

Change is Dangerous

Grimbeau

Visog

Pleased to inform you

that the operation was a

total success and

I am now a proper woman

All thanks to homemade napalm

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Kris

Dewar saw the fear, read the cower, laughed.
His capricious myrmidons looked the other way.
The bush was sharp, dew damp and dirt dusty.
He jumped before he was felled.
The wounds were evidently self-inflicted.
He makes a habit of this.
Control was all.
‘He’s mad alright’ said Dewar
‘Told you‘ said Trimble.
They melt back in the playtime throng.
Parr helped him out of the bush.
The legs are scratched deep and bleeding.
Why? Contrition is the wetter part of valour.
The big yellow streak dilates.
Might is always right in the name of Peace.
Spring comes slowly up
pissing about to the echo of a toothless mastiff chewing
onea rock with a fiddle, singing of the abducted.
plonked awkward on a mute piebald palfrey

little ditties…(i am a walnut)

Grimbeau

micropoems crowd
scarred free blogs save our doleful
planet from gutter
unnecessary clutter
peagreen penknife trysts
slashed on old tree blogs
Eternally yours forelorn
Tina’s coming very soon
…so just dig it dorothy
swallow the yellow brick road
& forever remember
neutron stars sleep all day
recharging batteries then
scintillate all night

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Darning Socks for Sontag

Endured cross stitch ups and venal stings,
incursive pine needles and lupins,
divisive thimbles and tumbrils,
concluded justice must be obscene to be undone
that finger food sucks at Funky Fiona’s,
regretted the futile fracas in Franco’s Head Shop,
and, at the heel of the hunt,
feeling flabberghastly
repeeled a grape for Delilah–
Yes the bummer’s done.
Now sat here the huge jukebox
affecting a timid demeanour
behind purple drapes
we, with blunted needles and bent pins,
darn socks for Sontag.

Tristezza

Grimbeau

meek winds sing small ills:
niffles snuffles niggles gripes
Gene Wilder’s gone stone deaf
dazzling daisies pomp no more
turning leaves bonfire bright
-must we go to grown up school 
this time every year?

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The Bragging Hall

Grimbeau

Shut the craven door, put on the long sleeves…here it comes
Rouged erotic fall apples hang heavy in the sweaty orchard

Too often and falsely I have been told I am loyal, true and faithful,
Honest to a fault, capacious in my tolerance

Why let waste-wolves take their pick, leaving us wild boar
Cherish stray abandoned cryptic sirens

While rapine tyrants mocking strut their bawdy stuff, and raze ivory bone chapels
to cinders as innocence stands by looking on?

Untongue this serpentine insatiable ambition, stuff red hot pokers in it till it puffs
up like a hamster at the cud

Let that be an end to it for good, then retire us we shall to the bragging hall to winter in stories tall as giant pines and spruces

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A Dude Awakening

Grimbeau

...you are not writing thus you are not a writer i am not writing thus i am not a writer -better quickly jot that down quick over there that paper scrap with spuds eggs, toilet rolls, dog food,crisps some forgotten shopping list or postmodern masterpiece what a bloody mess better get out the Hoover later there's nothing on the other side where's the pen? there, a pen, blue dried up biro, it might just work today. Increasingly violent circles- watch it, you'll rip it: A pencil! there behind the box of menthol vapes behind the burning candle careful, slowly does it that's how accidents occur i really must go to the loo. the dog wants to go out i can let him out and go downstairs, listen to the early morning news Shit! the clocks went back it's bloody Alan Bennett fetching in the milk i am not a writer…

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Nasturtian Complex

Not on Dover Beach

Mr Potato Head — The Avocado

So, that was Black Friday: the first day of winter intimations, cool rain and mud. For the first time in months he breathed from his pelvis, his kidneys were in good cheer, and his bowels mirthful with the prospect of heavy stews and baked potatoes. ‘Spudfinger…ba-baa-ba; he’s the man, the man with the tuba touch’ […]

Mr Potato Head — The Avocado

To Paulo

change

sun after rain
steam shrouds leaf
stone wood dries
rot haze fades
fingers pause linger
tears fall smiling
continuum must

Kilroy & Cadwallader were here

Entropy ain’t what it was
In the chokey oakum days
The greazy gabardine mack days
The sad brown paper bag days
The dainty doris day days
we were young at heart then
pistol whipping work horses
who toiled in broke up city streets
Hawking stucco frontispieces & smiley culture vulture daubs
You deny that people called Duck did once exist?

An oxygen experience is tough enough to get over.
Personally, I gained fuck all that I want in life no worries.
I am perfectly content in mind and bodybag
Indeed all the tension drops from my body
lukewarm and utterly butterly,
It’s as if I were sitting beside a friendly fire,
Well wrapped up in a crinkly blanket,
rocking gently back and forth.

Communication is unpleasant and unnecessary
Under the influence of oxygen,
You soon see no companionship at all is best
I accept myself and the world just as we are, separate
not begrudgingly,
but eagerly,
ecstatically even.

Wet coal tipples blanket bluffs,
Rusted out coal tipples
blanket breezy bluffs
Twisted track curls up
gnarly knotted toes
Industry was here
Once below a time
Declared unfit by Kilroy & Cadwallader

Samarkand

O for a life less examined, with nothing to be compared and measured by;
then with that overcome, will you bend my shirts for old times sake?
Set your Grimoires aside for rainless, aimless sorrow days;
gambol free in pigeon slippers through Dijon mustard fields;
assume the lifestle of a burgher of Elysia,
We today shall call oursleves Ashfodel & Bergamon,
and make merry in naff herbaceous borders.
First shower carefully perched upon a lofty sill
and do not spill the soap
plunge awkwardly
and become
a pepper speck in the universal wet room lino.
A ferocious fungus grows on my hipbones,
an unsightly ganglia, purpley and pacoderm.
Attribute it to the dim light cast in the black jade mirror.
Those dark atlantic raves play merry hell with the orbs.
A new moon, I hear: what of the old one?
Confer with the owl when twilight holds sway.

Clacton Calling

Grimbeau

 

Sur le Plage, de l’Or

Under

the beach

Hidden

Gold

Norman's Bay Starfish

O’er them  dunes,

Cap’n Mudd!’

Says Mrs Hands.

…just go left at the war mines,

 right at the shipwreck,

and,

Bob’s yer Uncle

It’s just there

opposite Aldi.’

Put on, or should it be, donned

John’s bonce on the hob.

Brain versus brawn

is a no-brainer.

Meanwhile…

after a lean while

Herod buys bonking time,

hides it in his Wish Urn

The sheer, brazen

Barbaric

Sauce of the fellow!

‘Chopsy prophet.

Salome’s mum

was a right one

too…’

Folkestone Ferry

grounded

On Golden Beach.

Lemmings swarm

Ferreting about.

Dredgers look on.

Dormant

In easy, idle, calm.

Just waiting

for the

Ebb to Flow

Uphill

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Freedom Days

Drowning in Project Ocean waters
we bulk buy curses concealed inside
twenty slices of US cheese
bound in kangaroo skin
and peruse mein kampf bound in purest skunk
and human anatomies encased in human hides

the brush clunks in the tar bucket
motley multicoloured rabbles contrive
exquisite leprosies
in dripping ginnels
and confuse spalpeens with calumnies
and catastophies with freedom days

In a tent in Kent (or something for the weekend)


Penicillin Road drops steep
cuts and bores
through sheer bare escarpments & stark granite defiles,
surges frothing fizzes over roadside boulders
churns up windblown chaff and docile dross
Befor it slows meanders and morphs
into torpid oxbow kidneys and verdant flood plain gallops

Some nights while still sounding thunderous
it prances fast through otiose viscous varicose arteries and drives insane men’s veins
through canny chicanes
scorning litigious bunions & seedy rundown canyons of doubt
eagerly cresting on horizon tendons it defies proud ligaments,
mocks cists & melts stubborn pockmarks and rueful cataracts
and spills into the ulcerated sea off Old Toe Head
where swathed in crinkly lint chinked amber pulses
itoscillates lit up by strobing lunar beats

Shoe sized egomaniacal
west ham actors &
two bit part harp players
& sundry stray intrusive
sporty parties snarl & bicker
disgorging muckbill platitudes
to puggled flustered
rashly squeezed bone
girdled gossip mongers
hawking meagre humble wares

The morning after the dud who faked sincerity
got shunned by rank indifferents of all races, creeds and colour theorists…

lightspilt first up back of four
just as Saul found out
why the lucid coast
of duvet moans in jest
= Effluenza or Influenza?
Who cares much these days
Pass over the capsule and be an Angela, my sweet.

*
Broken News from Dawn Patrol announces…
Windows of opportunity get three thumbs up should Halloween pass without unsavoury eruptions

Second waves pronounced the new first moon by turd party arsonists
sampling tea leaves humping hope to an amen beat the
last chance balloon leaves come dawn on this vernal equinox
*
Ethics in AI gets bunk up from fretful plutocrats with more money than funny.
Glass and concrete truth domes full of ratfinks tremble

Peasant slaughtered by boy racer
stooges a monarch in a Star & Garter Gig.
The town of Richmond mourns behind closed minds
*
Ten finger professionals occupy space
set aside for cheetahs lost in transit.
Stare out these days through shopfronts
displayed on handheld flymo gizmos.
All shapes and sizes filed under laudable applaudables.
Feasible exercisers say strain not yet no sinew.
Spineless fatigue pandemic supine sighs.
Vagrant anchovy is upset that the mule abjures.
Profligate cartwheels & takes rap for cold cold snap.
Sidelined on the margin: peripheral & subliminal.
If this is true~ if so what follows…Huh?

Well shod gunshot rider racer
royally glides roughshod over
an enfeebled citizenry in broad daylight
impression of crass snobbery

Third June Thursdays don’t get much longer in the short run
Search engines rise with suns to take you down you guessed it:
Penicillin Road


Secrete a bloom bury it deep in forget me knots…twas Midsommer Day she sent ashtray…
too near to something hot. Hot like mercury…
Slipshod ellipses. Pulling and Squeezing.
Falling yet not falling yet.
Turning yet not spinning
Ear fluids sloshing sloshily.
Smell of sweet pine.
Drizzling wild honey.
Lingers on licky fingers
Last days on earth. Pungent like liquorice…
Dad’s Army and psycho dramaturgy,
Cadmus family values rule KO
down at Thebes by the Sea.
Cast off thousands
Bear their teeth.
Laughter releases no fun juggler:
Watertight alibis spring no leeks
& sink like stones
but butter no parsnips
Muddle muddles through mind
Cassini pulls it off like Daisy
Days start up sluggish smooth
listen out hard to silence golden
struggling to swallow Penicillin
before the capsule melts in bitter toxin
Go eat something quick before singe
Heavy ordnance stems the onslaught
The moon grows big over Medina
Quiet whistlers kicking sticks down windy lanes
Dawn rain sprinkles dust
Brambles break out of a livid hedgerow
Something small in there is Movement
roused by scent of Danger
keens it the hungry eye?
Probably a rat according to What The papers say.

Who the hell is Wallace Bronson?
His name’s all over town these days. I hear them big him up. I hear them put him down. Perhaps a craze that came and went. Grabbed an hour dreamt of warm embraces
By the jolly neck old chap.

An entire dramatic action complete unto itself plays out.
Heard Wallace later utter
scutter thick as butter
as nearby thickly knitted people talk creative ambiguities purr
Bigging up ticklish solutions tripping out on funny money
camped out overnight on sodden cloud cuckoo landscapes
Party party party time–
scuffed up leather horsehair stuffing entrails;
bouncing up and down
Being naughty Backseat Sunday of a Morris Oxford under blurred high hedges
low trees rain drips water splash ‘Watch Out for that Unicorn!’
Blue serge suited chubby mammy’s boy down potholed back roads boasts to blackberry ramblers
in see through macks ‘Gulp cool smell of cowshit honeysuckle’
Crows claw fat green leaves
water blobs erupt dog roses
Polished brogues flashing matching socks
handkerchief sporting little gentilhomme
scrams knee go fetch Dettol and dabbing cloth
Bathe it pink till stop sobbing dry pats
Blow softens ouch its stingy cotton settle down beige flesh stickplaster

Finished as if applause follows that little performance
threw a fugue fandango now cards strewn pell mell on parquet floor rug
ruined when fur flew past Spree of exasp…desper…constern…
Bleargh splat yucca hahahaha…wash hands swift job done wait in purdah taube.
What awaits two guilty buddhas Sat glum cross legged on the whipping mat? Caught fighting over emberscraps. Saucysnaps, Easy policeman ticking off did not goog the nups marked earclip. No slipper beatings ever did so. Petit crims entertain mad whims.
Parrot learners think on it or else.
*
Fastest omelette west of the Quantocks, some claim Sideshow Slobbo warm ups for the main event primarily to Cause a stir. Take the floor. Do a turn. Fry. Self immolation. Make a memorable memory . Eventful everlasting daydream. Ends in tears. Where’s he gone this time? Pff. Declined the invite . To act like I am a goat. Not the scene. Made excuses curt and left via dockland drain. Let off a steamer at St Malo. Burn it up. Ends in tears. Where else? A Scrambled Shambles? Seen later Down and dirty in the Dog and Duck making quavers last all night oak log fireglow damp socks steaming Catch an eye nod snarl grimace smile of visog recog. Same or similar plight. Stages of alight Depth charge and fat warhead cure.
Brace yourself for Skegness by the Sea. Cornish riviera dip. Dipping crooked toesies. Roll ups. Just like Xenophon. Full of importance when no one is Taking notes. Ten a penny eyebrows. Pencil in moustachio. Pocket Dirty Postcard sly crowd Sneaking peeps as Gertie sorts her girdles. Giant rubber diva gives out full blast. Empurpled by whelk frenzy. Getting sweet on. Hats flew up. Wind blows up the corridor & Up comes Pavarotti. Oily smooth snake charmer. Bedknob manner writ all over. Sleep the last thing on his.
‘Don’t the wind blow up the passage, Mrs Bulbous!’…’Away now with yer sauce’… Fun & games. Sigh like Clifton Webb on hemp. Fresh Fish soon goes off. Black Eye.
Cuckoo Waltz to Fin.
*
Intermezzo:
Roho man barges in unmolested by Torwart who given to flinches…
Who wants a Brownie pointf. Pofte ‘Crved Hairdo’ Draft One (A Manifefti). Commentatorf acknowledge
A refemblement to Fji’f Wok in paffing merrily on their way. Pfffed Off Altogether. Weftward Huff!*
But what? Say what? What of? Furtive fifteen minnows flounder
frekled flambuoyant flanneur reflects on ephemera in a Sin Shop window. Fiddlesticks & Fu Manchu .
Hickey’s Hockey Sticks. Fallopian Tuba ompahs Aatomata rattle gaudy boxes
Comenotye hither smiles the little drumstick.
Dirty thoughts charade. Penny for. Pinafore. Petticoat.
Philanderers and Swann- Hunter.
Burgess & McClean breast pocket.
Gilbert O’Sillivan. Ethelred’s Outsize Outfitters shrinks.
King Kong of Marvin Hagler Gardens. Hennesey Hiccups.
Hearn’s Hooha handwash. Nefertiti bugles most brunchtimes.
Maple Syrup syllables go viral. Slighly slurry Senora spouts.
Teeth must have ulterior motives. Chattering classes ticking boxes.
Upper set affixed with creamcheese. Round the bend lost wristwatch scowls.
Sleeve strolled up deep breath and plunge humourous. Ignominy sancti. Next to cuddliness.
Gawblimeyness but bawdier. A Knight at the Opera remembers Penicillin Rd

Red Mud

Chiropractors rule under
unknown worlds of boney calcite gristle–
‘We take you to bits but do not know how to
put you back together’ they declare
damming misdirecting truncating spurning subjecting —

consider a topography of tubes and screens
draining into olive kidney dishes,
ox bow crimson lakelets,
and opaque epidural highland tarns.
hear up echoes resound to hollow vessels

mimic the clunk of dropping spanners;
observe soft rivets tremble at the thought;
contemplate the fighting Tamarare tugboat straining
its chrome yellow hawsers.
Gravesend is all lit up for monkey business.

elsewherea pink mist of locusts
flock remorseless as wallpaper
part to reveal the true Kilimanjaro
bypassed by a Hemingway flyover
while those nearby nose dive into soft sage bush

Stratus shall get the gutter work if they want
when the bleeding chaffinch stops
leaving an indelible mark
that vanishes without trace
beneath the red mudddied third mind’s eye

Old Rope Money

the plaguy bill off beat
commands sand chiropractors rule under
unknown worlds of boney gristle–
damming misdirecting truncating spurned —
a topography of tubes
draining into kidney dishes,
ox bow lakelets,
and opaque highland tarns.
hear up to hollow vessels
echo at the clunk of dropping spanners;
soft rivets tremble at the thought;
the fighting Tamarare tugboat strains
its hawsers.
Gravesend is all lit up for business.

Space Clinker

We called the comet Ambrose after tinned rice pudding
and spectcular sunsets by campfires on the old A5

The Duke had been busy with his gun by the look of it,
spent cartridges littered the mile-a-minute and ondive

Billy was sure of a good clattering when she told him
yet tears and snot were wiped away on his furtive sleeve

When Ambose fell to earth he was no more than a clinker
yet we raised him as one of our own and watched him thrive

Derision

After the hiatus of the iron gutter,
the tumult of the bamboo jungle.
as the rains and plagues return
you find yourself eighty pounds lighter–
sooner or later you will weigh nothing at all:
Only then the problem will be solved
when an awkward comet promises too much
just as a gold digger in the crispened snow
of a teeming desert island called Roy expires

Adventures in the Scone Trade
did not fulfill your expectations
then as ever you were duped,
seen and taken for a mug
by sly slick master bakers
who offend the morals of the skunk.
Three years later you walked back in
and gave me five more children to rear
on a piano teacher’s laughable salary

The Forty percent Solution

Evidently prunes and bananas seldom
budge stubborn nations,
an annular eclipse
(a total package with a forty per cent discount
and a ring of fire thrown in for good measure)
obscured by rain clouds. nonetheless
Biden about to get up
to some pure act of good
(don’t mention the blasted sausages):
avoidance of error removes the need for correction.
There was blood curdled
on the sheet and blood clotted on the chair.
we carried on as if nothing were there.
nonchalantly, one might caution

The Orthotics of Banality

morning sun intense on garden window gets you up sleep blind to stand on one leg, take 
your pills, overdose on vitamin d and reward
yourself with two spoonfuls of laudanum; waiting for Andy and Pritti to mate and watch your toes turn blue. 
Assume the horizontal and the pueumatic
hammering begins, the power tools of sunday morning, the razing of humdrum lawns. 
You fall back asleep clutching your talismanic vape and find yourself in a one horse town 
atop a chiselled desert path, lights shine from the buildings
it is snowing, out to sea moonlight defines the cliffedge in brilliant blues and yellows, a 
concave tube connects the sky and earth. Waiting in the lobby a
voloptuous dark haired woman appears and asks you in. The reflection shows 
dark rings beneath your eyes. There is a room inside being prepped for
a procedure. a large white haired matron approaches you with notes. 
she does not know about the extraordinary pills you take.
 A little fat man barges in imposing his importance
you say he is interrupting, he ignores you, he thrusts his hairy arse is in your face, 
you shout fuck off and wake up. the dog is barking. Did he hear you sceaming?

those lights on the cliff were sublime, the rock pools vibrant, the water spout majestic, 
agony offset in a desert blizzard mild and still, you were not alone, there was a familair silhouette, 
you leapt to the obvious assumptions and were proved right
right about the jab appointment. It is today. She is due at on the dot of five-thirty. 
No chicken dinner. No clean floor. No fresh bed. 
People never show on rainy days. On this globe every day it rains. 
Who was that on the phone? Gives it sound cause for some concern?
Approaching storm clouds dim the light, you turn up the heat before  the great incoming sloosh
'Great Suicide Weather,' said the old man staring into crowded space. May proves itself a foaming seething zone.

The Third Man Cometh

Over a hour since 
you hit on Notes from the Underground 
by old laughing boy 
Dostoyevsky 
(how you loved misspelling his name!)
on audiobook. 
He insists on pure enjoyment! 
An enjoyment of depradation. 
Because of the inertia 
that follows on  from an over-acute conscience
spilt a thin nick to long on--
thus there is no escape 
from being a long grass bum. 
There is nothing else to be. 
So enjoy the despair. 
Fancy a coffee? I bet you do.
Sure you won't drop that?

Strange Brew (King Kong Garden)

A tea of 
foliage churns our garden round,
        But not a 
tea of 
dull unvariegated green,
        Sharp contrasts 
of all colours here are to be seen;
The light-green 
graceful tamarinds abound
Amid the 
mango clumps of green surround,
        And palms arise, 
gorillas pray, between;
        And over there 
shooting pool the villains lean,
Red,—red, and 
startling like a trumpet’s sound.
But nothing 
can be lovelier than the strangeness
        Of bamboos 
to the eastward, when the moon
Keeks through their 
raps, and the white lotus changes
        Into a 
cup of silver. One might swoon
               Drunken with 
beauty then, or graze and gaze
               On a primeval Eden  persiflage.

A Solitary Mistah

A dead unrequited tree has fallen bridelike on the sunrise.
in all likelihood the crazy sparrows will befriend it
bring it grubs and larvae to create utopia from its folds
since castration the buffalo spaniel gives a wide berth
to prone toxic temptations sullying his vista: language,
he inferred later, leaves no trustworthy fossils

The Woman in Red

Obscenities are music to dandelions
your foul mouthed garden 
is full to bursting
Unlike bores to endure at wakes
the first to arrive the last to leave
do you recall we were happy
unwhaling a mushroom quiche 
on a willow pattern platter and garnishing it
with corrugated parsley?
By this time it was whatever it is
nobody slept well and we woke refreshed
safe in the knowledge the weeds were cursed
some days now you just serenade the brambles
when the power tools have gone shopping
when the weather is bad you write sestinas 
psychokinensis is a dandy word

 

Merriweather & Manson Make Out

Dylan movie ambles down 
below jampacked with namedrops 
cameos and zen flavour wisecracks: 
up here in the crows nest 
full of psychic anthrax
and chintzy liquorice 
the ice floes pause for thought. 
Opening the landing window & 
admitting the savage boreus-- 
What the fuck were you playing at? 
You knew about the kerosene

Swimming to Abrasia

Sleepless till gone dawn, 
took pills at five, got a few hours, 
listened hard to Alexei, Mary, 
and the bird tapping on the landing window
then let out the dog and did tai chi with a vape
before the postman had good reason to walk past. 
Thought long and hard about water 
spilling over the bridge of sighs, 
and then thought of you saying 
'Fuck me a flying gondola, upside down inside handcuffs.' 
If things keep going this well
you might end up getting  discovered. 
Then what? Splash...

Poor Sweet Little Matty

repairing telephone booths is a thankless business these days
people walk past laughing pointing dark squares
just yesterday a trout exploded in front of the shop
wish i had caught that for posterity
one day i am going west
for rest and recuperation
a place without wires
a place with no connections to repair
the swim of hunchback trout

Frank Nuns

One stupid broad don't make a summer
to accomplish this onerous 
task you require:
a pride
a gaggle, 
a posse, 
a murmuration, 
a flock, 
a swarm,
a riot, 
a host, 
a crowd, 
a plague,
a herd, a school, a shoal
a parliament, a phallus...
 



The Worsewick Paradigm

Posted off that lump of shit up there above the date and time
fuck all else to do since the flea circus folded, 
the barn owl coughed,
and we burnt down the lunatic asylum
wonderful weather out there, nonetheless
no hot water to speak of, 
you await the seagull interregnum. 
Where's the presripted drugs? 
Everything but the Oromorph 
coming today. scant revenge for the Valladolid lawn atrocity, 
the blank candour of the rurales, the suffering of Juteland gnomes, 
the crisp decaying thyme of long,
deglected windowsills, the simperings of Little Matty,
the drudgery of elevenses, the carnal whelp of bob tailed dactyls
the maple leaves of bicameral arcadia...
 

Bounteous Pearl White Clout

Vast reserves of morpheus 
lean back satiated 
banked up by king size willows 
empty phials bob on the Lethe.
moonlight rakes the memory 
like sten guns on the  lilac Adriatic
this was never a town for joyriders on a spree
joined kindle unlimited for kicks, 
a read on a passing cloud
groupthink gets cricks it in the neck
have i spent bad money?
a little bit of testimony 
does a body good
illuminate thine selfhood

bhuasmi

Daft as a thrush in song,
peppered by turtle dove shot, 
endangered specious snipers go to pot
seen nobody but your familiars 
since the shodding excursion. 
No discourse on the telling bone 
except to the pharmakon
one egg owed to the corner shop. 
Sir Noot ate all the crusty bread. 
Mettoys crude long vehicles 
jacknifing in your head
as i breathe i grows 
rich transporting ancient coins 
over the funicular isthmus 
on the tough bodies 
of the cattle of Bashan



A Post Card

Orifamme burst open dawn canopy back of horse chestnut plantation on the cusp of five-thirty.
opposite this old place, the beige house was dark red and outside here the border hedge  
a defiant pea green the like of which you have never seen before.
After tablet medication, you mulled over the holy thought and avian tweet of the day before 
all things bright and beautiful from the guest Rev Livermore's finest work
got sullied by the sleazy  apocalyptic six o'clock news
As you drank up your coffee you took in the morning congress of robin, pigeon , and sparrow on the
bread strewn table and it raised a smile. Then it was back to the pneumatic bed for daybreak dreams.
You woke to Wimmins Heure; hear small plastic bags are banned and amoral breast implanters from the 
continent havebeen brought to book and must cough up substantial damages.
it amuses you when a tory lady gets berated by fiery emma's cross questions suggest mealy-mouthedness. 
you are still constipated but well read up on derrida getting busted on his
trip to prague in the early seventies (the grounds for his mission to deconstruct the usa?)
as ever your words are not flowing freely; has your twitter inactive account been corrupted? 
I sincerely hope so.

Vigil for a Burning Dog

On the ruby doorstep before you stands a parcel for Professor Phipps, It contains a pouch of pulverised sage intended to keep your lonely onion amused over a plague infested Yule.

A thermo-nuclear fog envelops the sleepy town of Trollenberg as erotic zombies fill dishwashers incanting the curses of Mali and smiling on the memory of Nkrumah’s wizard foxtrot.

‘Maradonna’s dead’ They chant.

‘Good, but what of little Diego?’ Prompts the whip cracker.

‘Mudlarking, no doubt. Skipper. Prizing dentures from washed up concubines of the East Indian mob enshrouded in sepia drab.’

A sable crow observes all of this from a tendrilled groyne. The ocan is muted, unspectacular, vivid. Waters lap. A heat pipe chortles in darkest Abrasia.

‘Will he wash?’ Chant the wanton zombies

‘In good time, when the opportunity arises.’

An emphatic whip crackles.

‘The crusty stench is beyond the pale of the daily luminal’

‘Up here on Waum Wen we call it crud’

‘Crud!’

‘Poor wee Diego’

Playing Fasti with Lucifer

If your youth spoke words of love,
give him this answer right away:

‘There’s too much light here, it’s too shameful
In the light: if you’ll lead us to a darker cave, I’ll follow.’

While he goes in front, credulously, and had no sooner reached
The bushes you  hid: and were nowhere to be found.

Janus saw you, and the sight raised his passion.
He used soft words to the hard-hearted nymph.

She told him to find a more private cave,
Followed him closely: then deserted her leader.

Foolish child! Janus can see what happens behind him:
You gain nothing: he looks back at your hiding place.

Nothing gained, as I said, you see! He caught you, hidden
Behind a rock, clasped you, worked his will, then said:

‘In return for your union, the hinges belong to you:
Have them as recompense for your maidenhead.’

So saying he gave you a thorn (it was incidentally a white-thorn) 
With which to drive away evil from the threshold.

There are some greedy birds, not those that cheated
Phineus of his meal, though descended from that race:

Their heads are large, their eyes stick out, their beaks
dressed as vermin in ermine and prone to crass cupidity

The Party for Moderate Progress Without the Bounds of the Law

15a96cb6747f7fbb275e2759b8f3b757--art-design-croquis

You who remember Squire Gonks’ Almanac and Charlie’s Aunt beware. Beware of foam stuffed velvet aphids. of gaudy palmable comfort bags,  of protei packed cabbage patch dollies, and other suchlike pre Vietnamese potbellied fads.  Gaudy were those blobs born fully formed of an optic oil crisis and a  major miner’s strike that felled a regime of long standing empire of snot, botched though they were by lumpen candlelight late into the black out night during the three day week, when a ten o clock blindfold was a plaything of the pissed.

If the Gonks could do it then you could do it too. You could have a privileged white space hopper or a bespoke purple chopper and flaunt your carefree brazen streak in broad daylight through  scrumptious corporate orchards. Mister Mennish in ambition but not so cuddly as gonks were in a disposable tactile tantrum way; eminently best home-makeable on the laminate dinner table – blunt scissors, clear gummed, sample felts of tasteless hues & farbs – put it together and you surely got your Gonk!

Mine bestie was called Paulus, a mythical gnome in a fabulous lamimate wood, purloined from under a trestle table at a school fete worse than death by gammon tickling. It was Paulus who suffered a fly on the wall documentary crew to film in his ancestral home and share the ups and downs of  pastoral life in the knot of a tree with a bunch of fellow arboreal misfits . As I recall there was a big mean black crow called Ted Hughes who harboured deep dark secrets of the occult and allotment plot.

Paulus disintegrated  after a vigorous drubbing in a temperamental twin tub. having always had a penchant for self harm then known as accident prone by abusive adults.

Life sure weren’t perfect by no means in the seventies. 

Lotis

river reeds make a scanty bed
the frantic lust for riches
beyond the wildest dreaming
audacious barefoot beetles

scented lofty ridge ahead
ecstatic gust bewitches
capricious barefoot beetles
indulge the wildest dreaming

wildest barefoot river reeds
indulge audacious beetles
scented scanty bed bewitches
capricious lust for riches

Portal

May got seventeen today, 

made glorious summer by this sausage pork,  

and in its air a’plenty 

rain revealed a summer born, 

the maid unaware craved its drains to roam, 

its culverts to clog―

a strange pain over the tantric temple, 

a sudden inability to spit, 

a teal sky, 

and a giant bird: 

omens look pretencious at dusk.

warm up

Perish the floorboards that overhead creak, blast those heavenly strangers that audaciously speak, expounding crass mouthfuls of weak forked tongued chic, while outside your window a thunder rumbles, and inside your stomach grumbles sleep, when blank lassitude replaces pernicious scorn. Soon the rain rushes and winds lash, dreamscapes fall urgently, sudden, thick, vast. Cool insurgent breezes cut through stuffed draught worn halls. Yet above they just keep chuntering and you must strain to know what’s happening and get to not worry too much about what a load of shite that is. This is not the point of this exercise it is more to do with keeping your fingers moving and the juices flowing after this prolonged enforced lay off so never mind if it smacks of Torrance in the Overhang and it does not scan. You are not obliged to show it to this world of strangers and avatars who haunt the pestilent ether. Caught deep in mid breath came a loud crash, ‘What is that bloody awful noise downstairs?’ Okay just get it down and to hell with the editing and punctuation, wait till the cows come home to roost. Your balls are hurting. Go out for a walk in the tropical suburban garden. Take a nocturnal piss on the ugly laurel by the crimson front door for old times sake. It will soon be dispersed by a cloudburst. Hailstones will pepper the dawn this time round. Get up for a drink and washed your ears when it arrives. Keep it going till light brings scant relief. Open the little window wider. Turn the heating down a notch.

Tomorrow visitors are legalised.

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When all the seas run dry

when the moon in the sky 
is a big peice of pie it's perturbing
all martians are closet anthropologists
the quality of mercy is not strained 
hence the lumpy bits
seize the day gently 
by the scruff and rotate 
leeward on its axis
run rabbit ran the takeaway on gin lane
dry me a river 
as i dried a river 
over last weekend  
my baby don't send me clothes 
love can move fountain pens


Pinch

Pin

chill,

wet first frost

rest thin little

finger on a pin,

four wet angels

shimmer

in

salt

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