Show on road? No…
Isolated blizzard,
hail, frog rain, bubonic plague, GPI,
These and sundry vilenesses
prevent Lifter Finger & Hans Turn
Fulfilling promises of gardening.
A pluperfect spring morning
wasteland of historic neglect
disgrace my spiffing gaze.
The road to oblivion is paved
with claptrap and obliquy.
Nothing comes of nothing
never…
elecToral fAll ouT (eXtreme fey HoovaH- aTishoo! At issUe!! A Tissue!!!)
settEes gently All
aRound
(my HUt-n-TutT)
conStructive nOiseS (OMnes F-oFF!)
ecHoes in…
e.c. O’sHambles
scRumPLed Sand’s tOneD disneYlunTs
deR phoney war isT uBer
eLeveNth houR
(p)RepaRations
underwEggs fu:r
voleSoul sLaughter
Are you in a gourd place, a worth thee situation?
Culmination: Dulcimer Concerto with Verbs
If not, how not? Where are you? How are you? What is to be done?
Let me be & let me live!
In bed, in pain, in doubt, idling,
worrying, resisting, defying, ignoring,
avoiding, suffering, tormenting, confusing…
Sofa so good. Comfy sofa. Groovy duvet.
Womb somewhere. Luvverly.
Somewhere baby.
Rainbow.
Love glow: glove snow
Melt and moult.
Go Hen woman.
Cool and crispen oven…
Go, go, go-go
Pen woman…
Return to Zenda
—Burnt out, or so you say. All burned out. Dried up, but like what—wadi or toast, candle or storm? Where there’s life…where there’s life. That’s what they always say
—Toast it is then: crusty brown wholemeal toast burnt black, iffy thermostat…
—Not bad, not bad at all
—No heart & soul mind you
—Husky, though, even a little dusky (ha-ha)
—Coffee brown roasted funnel dregs
—Still damp!
—Left out when the sun was at it’s…
—Zenith?
—Strongest
—Wow…that is real burnt!
The plague years, they said, burn themselves out.
A peculiar variety of auto da fe
It would seem to have been
Quite Divinely ordained.
Fire starter & hosepipe; belle, bookie, & candelabra!
Have they been moving that furniture around again?
Yes. They never stop it.
so much so sunshine & showers
seldom clash these days.
So well do they behave themselves.
And clouds no longer burst.
Not since many a long year.
Dry as salvages we are:
Mesos, stackpoles, arid drumlins…
Lithographs remain,
mere shadowplays, traced on pre stressed concrete,
splashes on toppled sarsens, drizzle on banished dolmen…
sure it’s better than nothing, anything’s better than:
‘That’s what they always say’
False start, phantom urges,
torpid orchid, shy to leave.
Back down, board the junk,
Jesternista, caught a crab,
choppy weather, flayed on blether,
sever Trevor, war not love,
H-bomb ambrosia,
cream the pesky varmint rice.
Ring the changes, ding-a-ling.
There’s a thing. Hell’s got bells!
Jesus wept, overslept,
missed the bus, succubus.
Train to Darksville,
never late, never late, never late…
‘What you want’s is a kick shit
editor!’
Said Sal
‘What you needs is
A cretinous creditor!’
Sal said as
I listened in silence
‘Love me Daddy, do’
Life’s full of compromises.
We smiled.
inside drag’s ragged hedge
fledgling woot suits sibilant
on saxophones edge
‘Each one counts’
‘yes, of course it does: each
And every one counts one more
A Prial of poems
about giving
up
using cigarettes
as a metaphor.
Smart, uh! Believe me!
I’m a Vicar
Dark morn sings heavy pox since muse took
some vital dive and ate my words
Sure, some got rescued by tree beast and now it
dwells in silly mode
a link and the easy magic
rolling from bed to let my thoughts and
dreams is done and gone. Now, morning is just
me, the kettle, a microwave, and the
coffee pot and I better get used to it.
Thus, today is a new same old as I
take coffee and drugs and head upstairs
by Tardis to the muse with black keys and
switch on the shipping forecast and the yarn.
Now, where was I…
Grimbeau 