Grimbeau

Scroodles

Maiden Century, Cheers!

Joy

Ton up!

Long room erupts; wild whirligigs;

Zimmer frames defenestrated, joyous

Grimbeau: shy, retiring, dragged to his feet,

Takes bows, shakes hands, dodges back slaps, and utters:

‘Good feeling suffuses each and every

fibre of  my being to all of you from the pit

of the bottom of my heart and lungs that follow

these dribblings, scribblings, and other odd things..’

One day pass two hundred posts; shortly later,

today in fact, reach a century of readers.

Chuffed, warmed, valued, charmed,

and happy as a happy chap can be.

Whomsoever you are, or are not, may

the road rise with you along the way.

Never been much good

at saying thanks.

So, thanks.

Critical Mass

English: Boy with a scull; watercolor and char...

Idling around upstairs:

the crows nest on a dead

lead soft afternoon.

Was that our gate?

Is the back door locked?

Pscho-burglars,

Killer-flyers,

Mutant neighbours, midweek papers,

possibly a bloody postman!

hello…

hullo…

Helloohh…

stagnant pause (eleven years)…

sighs…(two short, one longer)

footfall on stair…

Shostokovich climaxes…

A throat clears…

Blue flush of toilet…

Phulushhh…

‘What was it?…’

‘When I picked it up it was dead…hisss

I mean dead happened just as I picked it up…

the other one was the paper boy…’

Deeep breathes…

so glad it was just a piddling matter.