ides bizzy-lizzy-gizzy
effervescent blue jacuzzi
tenticles improvise
Bach, Sax, and
even Baxi does a sizzle
rizzle-razzle-mastadon
wanking on the white house
Lawn
Sparkling white rhino
Licking up Parafino
What’s it to be then?
So I ssked Martin Heidegger
Pulling out a bottle-stopper
Let’s make it a Dippelschisser
Truth is often stanger breeds
Fiction; orthodox
Seeks counter-vision
purple rain gestures
porous chorus eyes sweep seas
litmus paper pores
indigo collides with crimson
hollow bronchial catarrh
sounds of rumbling baritone
lightning flashes lightning strikes
never in the same place once
‘Ungry! you bet yer
badass angry as hellza
pop-popp-Popinjay
hip-hip hooray Huzzargh
mush wryshuss indignayshun
guardy-poohs!’
Clear the room, remove the loon
jinx more second helpings now
is the winter of our disco -fuff
flacid gawd, whorely doxy…
puffer runnin’ uff out-pfuffuff
fuel needs feeding you Tom Fool
hire clear blue sky blinking
turn again Whitless-Washboard
turn again, for London’s Burning
lavender river flow-flows
Ptomac-a-Ptomac
Parting company wit
Surreality
Aint as sinful as it sounds
Necessarily so-so
manifest obscurity
guarantee:
purview
blue
oblivion
©Grimbeau
play is suspended
due to lack of interest
casablanca time
Changes on the way
This takes longer than a day…
Five hogs is far too many
Garden full of junk
Take it as it is
Forget about it
When I cannot write
I write
i ca nn otw rite
There is nothing to
write about
when I cannot
write so I write
ican
no
twr
ite
when I can
garden full of junk
this takes longer than a day
forget about it
change is on the way
take it as it comes
five hogs is enough
when is day afternoons
go on and on
forever
Washed, washed up, washing in the wash – whoosh that’s the sound of corporal punishment and time flying
The parlous Lewis is on the box. This is where I came in three years ago. Whoosh that’s history repeating itself like gherkins and anecdotalists
It’s proper lashing it down out there. Dare I envy the orange lozenge beanflower living in the now. Whoosh whipped the wind with a fulfilled whish
Old music hall jingo-django vaudeville singalongs—bets no-man’s land into a cocked hat
Whoosh there goes a really white whizzbang
The boy I love throws up in the gallery, nacreous alabaster swan’s necks turn when the shot rings out, ‘Gas, gas quick boys’. Whoosh comes the yellow narcoleptic mist
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?
Is there something wrong with everything, a flaw, a rift, a fissure, the meerest hairline fracture inbuilt obsolescence has a lot to answer for; so, later today dangling precariously upside down by the ankle attached to a withered yellow rubber band I will venture to examine various suspect roof tiles If I have the time Or indeed the inclination
Crack! Crushed a sequin
Silver sequin embedded
Moonlight blue table cloth
Blew a dream to smithereens
Heavy handed oafish clot
Butterflies crushed on cartwheels
Like Wilfred Hyde Whyte
With a sledgehammer
