Grimbeau

Scroodles

Jam Sandwicj

we need a plan—a good plan
to get where we want

to be apart from not here just now
says who (and whose army?)

el Cid from Broadstairs downstairs
from far beyond the grave—why he
so macabre, sardonic, cheap

& nasty to boot
That’s not to mention stupid, obnox
& quite honestly sick

Nobody needs your shit—they got enough

of their own on their plate to be

getting on with to…
What about free diamonds-

free diamonds—

no questions asked
Diffo kettle altogetha

mon ami—diffo kettle alto
So

lightnin’ struck Hopkins

thrice in the barn loft conversion by the charnel house bedside the windowless birdcage
You cannot miss it if you dare look up—

spin the bottle
In Peckinpah slowmo
Nighflight entertainment central
Regular as fireworks
They could all be actors—of course
Just like voices that ring out on the radio
One big Mike Leigh slice
We need a map from here to somewhere else
To get where we want to

be apart from not here just now
—a map from here to somewhere else
To where, for what, with whom?
Winchelsea. Samphire. Pickles.

 

 

 

ChoreoGrafitti

While sat below a while ago—before I got the milk in came a great relief—heard a bell ring in heaven
a landlord got its wings—

a very rare event indeed.
About that time, awareness rang up left a voicemail— warm sound
easy gift wrapped me up, perplexed it now felt safer

spinning round,
I trusted again—cautious winds ceased—less tension in my upper back,
the legs grew longer, my ankles suppler, more alive—all in all a new level, no
final plateau as I had feared,

another stairwell to paradise opened— this is how:
a kiss of appreciation and a big hug in hard times can do, seems
it is never too late.

Never over till it’s over —these gifts are fine and
rare for the baited bear—how the

society of others stinks—no purse
strings attached this time—caring for a living corpse—a body of opinion—
getting bitter twisted now go forgive your memories—

they know not what they do—do you?
~
Smoke goes up dog farts open tent flap—next door neighbours mirror bin
retrieval antics—what does it all mean?—disapprobation of sloth—
spherical tantrums—looking for trouble· now why would that be?
—questions crowd in thanks to dog farts—how myths are made—
Quite by chance inspiration—since walking was a sin—when death
came knocking at the door to collect protection money with menaces—
sunshine and birdsong—men’s semiotics—all foreign affair
gnomes observe great tits concealed by crimson tropical cactus—
Carmen Miranda shuffles across the veranda with a giant panda
shaking a wicked maraca—must be yes we can day of the dead—
four idle prisoners evicted from prison for crimes against the state
—don’t charge in like that—all the time it takes in the world is what it takes—never say die just stop going on—
and start all over again or else—stop wrestling adolescence—

it wins out every time…

 

 

Wenceslas! He Dead

grimbeau's avatarGrimbeau

Kiss my fetid arse, he mock Royal Family chortled,

and muttered chagrined at the Shrewsbury Six,

the Famous Five, and the silver sixpence

he always found coz he kept it in his waistcoat pocket.

He won’t get it this year. After all, it’s just

a feastday afternoon in the middle

of deep, dark december- a bit of fun.

So riot and dissemble, be not alone,

think of the others who have mice for family,

dining daintily on nice nibbles while

fellow peasants crave more presents and

pudding. So much to do and so little

time. Time to get it right. Just right. Surely,

that’s life after all is said and done.

A fuss about nothing, just sage & thyme

stuffing around since this time last year,

a plateful of woe, a glass full of tears.

And Uncle Norman’s toast.

Bless him.

‘Glaze your arses and roast myrhh hadyustate!

 Cheers, my…

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