Grimbeau

Scroodles

Category: creative non fiction

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

Gasman Under Gurney Tree

Rowdy cloud

bursts  open

freshening wind

dispels turbulent air

origin Cathay

 

homespun yarn

chainsaw massacre  

cherry blossoms

gently fall on wet asphalt  

imperilling  blackwater :   

P e r I l — (I is a big blossom) 

a silver skein rupture exposes

a galleon twig trapped on emerald sea — 

such schisms split serenity asunder  

As wide skies open  

Ground rents increase   

on coppiced picket lines 

flaked out nudes pass by conversing in pink gauze tropes 

—                only fools left to endure incremental sedation 

    sifting through twisted space junk  

                                       left to plunder the sparse first light  

observing rooftop silhouettes  

                    crawling on a chocolate rhombus 

There a pollarded alp  

stumps up crumbly chimney stumps 

Like an old decapitated toblerones 

sernaded by a  jackdaw circus  

The rigid khaki wrack stacks start to wobble  

precariously perched atop  

A faggot burden is cast away 

Down a crumbledown  Ambleside mountain  

Under which  

a little fat boy wanting outies  

Writhes as Cader Idris sizzles 

protesting the right to skedaddle  

onrushing scree flurries overlap 

to wreak havoc & rage & rumpus  

Stay indulge the happy prospect of an avalanche 

confined to poxy screenplay dross  

deemed unfit for family funsters 

cross legged scrammed by yapping seagulls  

as winging blackbirds sure drive folks   

hopping mad 

grinding up anthracite briquettes  

freed up from coal shed solitary  

A modest refinement to desire 

converting them to coking coal  

hatching audacious escape plans 

embrace a sudden urge to defaecate  

running out of temper tantrum

silence is compromised by   

A HOST OF GIANT HYACINTHS   

O Calcutta coal shed 

Paradelia drips on stone porchway 

overflowing gutters ebb  

an ardent dew lapped overnight 

Farley Hill now rests in peace 

The square left to merge 

In flaccid repose  close to hibernation;  

dreamtime in the shires;  nighlights dazzle field mice;  

chess fielders enjoys a slight reprise;  

 

a clay pipe of old grey, a buoyant cottage loaf, a mix of 

influences to enjoy…will there be a pmqs? my eyes are getting worse. artificial light a must. it was still dark at seven thirty;  

a heavy twilight; not long till the clocks go back; how long ago did I get paid; thoughts of open fires and foaming  

pints vanish come eleven; all that getting ready… 

two fizzies dropped in tap water. a shot of cranberry the second time round. If red candles on: blue candles off;  

back to fresh dream bed for breakfast;  

hoover up, as in stairs, aboveness the location; where server updates spoof disease; do people work in real time? 

Cautious Emma always slides on wet stuff. Catch a nasty chill out in this she will; clouts recommended are clouts rejected; 

stroppy forty-three-year olds; internalized know all’s detect from far the sound of distant sausages  impeding progress on the jaunty loaf of life;  southsouth west an alarm wails, a dog yaps–is clipping time come round again? Perhaps a minor accident 

On the grubby outskirts. a bypass roundabout gridlocked seethes; trepidatious revs resound; that bloody alarm is getting on my tits; just having a wee write i was; not many around so took the chance 

nobody seems to want disturbing; what a bloody bore; getting on with it, they call it; doing the rounds of the daily grind; now the bloody engines choking; 

This henry lark, he repeated: is it really all about Lydia? Endless reruns of screens pace necromancies. Life goes on streaming without you know. Vomit–see what comes up whole  

Enjoy the ride. Best you can sober stay that is it could prove novel. truth is i am off it keeps. regular hours did it hands up. Fixity of purpose. No more delusions of grandeur. The good old nine to five. 

A creative in a canvas sandpit sustained by holograms of angels feather dusting tramps of gruffly… 

a good bit later it would seem, sun going down, the radio voice of Evan Davis rabbits on explaining things for lesser species in a friendly tone that no one in their right mind trusts 

Everybody carries an agenda in their portfolio nowadays Young Cheroot she said looking for a hook to grab me with. To sweep me up and carry me off while at the same time you maintain staying put is a canny trick, calmly intrusive, yet stubbornly resisting further tales of jellied eels and cyanide.  

 

Return from elsewhere once again bearing only a keen clean presentience of an inner voice previously unheard thus impossible to speak of in external narratives; a new voice slushing pumping ironic pellucid entropy only to give way when you enter the tranquil hours unimpaired by must be’s;  

some say self-compassion works both ways; they say it’s good to talk to invisible friends and to say i worry such a lot and know they understand and freak the same way to when they see no way out but up; but here in the lonely world there is just the hideous smell of dreamtime in the shires.  

five-line entries, four-line whips, cat o’nine nails, catacombs, catamites, catatonics–not my kind of cruise ship the SS Sadist. Still whatever floats your boat at these prices that which don’t disturb the horsiest riding rough shod over rippling waves ignore the gentle thud of slugs hitting sackbuts; tax haven never on yer nelly; eye open for the main chance mind make a run for it across the non-existent border washed by all waters;  

one finds occupation of the crease involves focussed awareness to achieve the desired outcomes  

Celtic knots do my head (think upside the box); midday shakedown, let the blood flow 

crimson rivers of chicken livers; five lie whip transgression; respect the rules to break 

them, just play the bloody game for once. Abide by unwritten rules of bleak estrangement 

Storm lashed night, thunder and lightning from the north; sunny morn. no milk delivered, 

Drawing lurid conclusions– twisted metal, milky puddles, ravaged hats distressed by blast 

no real vision to speak of; sloth unprovoked to rise in spite of prophecy. Read some myth 

for illumination. Nursing due at some stage. Shower or Scuba. Nose pegs and air freshener 

hide corruption. Standards increasingly low. Nowt gets done if you stay abed.  

End of broadside… 

 

Another ninety minutes that transformed a toe and brought disaster to a flawed grandmaster who 

failed to understand what was under his nose. From the frozen seas of Ross up an endless 

glazier we were aware the horses would be eventually sacrificed for some greater good 

called lunch… 

 

Why this need to make do? To prove a cake will rise? Curling up time in forget me knots  

Celebrating weepy time down south. Florence Rightangle squares the circle. A marmut grabs the spotlight inside a paintbox aware horses would be sacrificed under my nose while being distracted by smoke knots of dreek derangement of lettuce  

IMAGINE a handful of bitesize nuns 

grinding and eschewing smutty windowsill gunk  

Winnowy as wheat gets beat from from dusty chaff;  

a’harvesting for instant potassium me doubty lords; 

ill and non directed groups share  no such similarities;  

no such what as absolutes in such matters of incidental friction 

THE manipulation of a squashy universe of racketeers,  

eye catching bogus schemes and brutal intrigues:  

That’s Life—thats Happitalismus chapesses;  

so sundry fictive people say 

Lesbian pyrates run amuck! 

Caution passing rubber duck  

–just look the other way if you know what’s good for you;  

plenty more lying around to fill your brambled mind with;  

such as…such as…such as…  

This 

* it is worth noting that the child whose father refused to purchase a bow wow succumbed to her injuries 

as a wallflower met a sticky end stood up too close to the warm glow of endless possibility  

grip it firmly shake it hard squeeze each last drop out grasshopper 

rigid condensed uptight desperate dabblings in matters  

outwith all known comprehension clearly aren’t your forte 

 

Just got light attack– aqua, tourquoise, hoodwinked moon ;  

optimistic widows admit bird chirps & freshly risen air;  

early worms give up dull ghosts & head for air conditioned dayjobs; 

DUP hold out for Juul tides, white riders & moonlit oceansides 

prearrange red handshakes in vacant dayglo barns;  

many the slip twixt cup and lip .  

Itching to get on with it. It.  

Awayday from bondage incarnate.  

Aweigh ye chocks. Aweigh wiya… 

 

PIGMENTS call the shots  

IN THE bOOK OF Kells:  

first dip a hairy stick in mud,  

apply it so a stippled surface,  

discover Bob’s your uncle.  

oak apples dissipate in gallotanic acid  

give us warm blacks to quaff;  

watch miniver coalesce in a squirrel’s chuff;  

insular scripture drives you nuts in the end;  

twenty layers of glaze captures skin tones for posterity 

better hang around to see what happens… 

 

final thoughts on the present sound very much like the first; dayshift looming large; missed first half an hour of eugenics gruppe; 

 

Wind up time begins; much to do today; wear fluffy slippers, sup green tea, glow

 

Times and dates are as valid as fog; posted the week to Henry the Blog to give the whole wide world the kind of week its been down here 

in the funny farm. Crazy horses, daffy ducks, and the rest–but to get by you gotta keep going; no use sitting back wary and frit 

The cows need a milk and the hens need a feed and for that there’s no avoiding out.  

So rain or snow out we go forth in summer as in winter. 

You just walked off, never wrote, got in touch, that was it, as if it never happened, left me here, no wonder, bit lost, up to nothing much as if you care

just sat here surfing bored shoeless 

sunday already…clocks back next week, jazz requests insist on a scat and ology split; juss writin’ lighnin’ 

–is there a law against it yet?  

Don’t give them any ideas man. they’d sell you hooves and quirt 

duh 

 

two days pass eventfully in an egyptan loo called Caspar Shithauser von Brexit to lower blood pressure 

 

break away from planet hypochondria; nice cupppatea & digestive biscuit; espy carers colluding in the street; 

patterns link together; thirty nine found dead in a container at a business park in Hayes near Horrible Harlow 

TRUTH BE never knuckled down to much 

 

two and a half hours up; took p/k’s, bb’s & cc’s; unburthened due to irregular stodgeness ( abounds); drew dots & lines; 

still very dark at seven; winter leap forward coming soon; death truck overkill; so much to take in; complicate all issues; no 

incursions planned; oh for a clear head! 

 

drifting down for liquid tea & sour dough toast and narcoleptic sleep; the thirty nine were Chinese and froze to death in a porcelain container; three months is a week in politics;  

grids & short stories filled the cranium, and cardiography, oh yes, that appointment, next week cascular–  

dirsctions of travel, screens and contrapptions, data to share etcetera, etcetera… 

 

The task before you  

is to take the mood of last years  

winning of the esteemed competition and tell it from a  

fresh perverted angle, let’s say wobbly omniscient for starters… 

‘Three insistent knocks distracted him, the dog went off soon after.  

He got up and saw the small white van: the opioids had made it through.’

  

Earlier on while watching Idol on Parade, musing on Bowie’s heroes,  

and working out when exactly the truck full of dead Chinese bought it,  

he had taken an opioid to kill the pain in his oracular toe.  

The original is a story of divorce and reconciliation, a portrait of a re-appointment,  

which wherein when the drugs took hold ended in an implausible aircrash caused by 

a wayward majenta drone, collapses in hysterics;  

Fate, predestination, and indolence hide in waiting  

all contained in a white lozenge that disintegrates in water.  

He drew the grid for a celtic knot haphazardly.  

There were no children involved in this thought esperiment.  

They had perished the night they lost it 

racing to not miss the last boat leaving. 

What did it matter now?  

There is still water under the bridge.  

Beware! Loose Chippings and 

smash.  

That was the best thing she said  

So those grids and tall stories was all again. Puff. Play chess vicar relax chill out… 

 

Cold below, muddy paws, back door agape, six presses on the remote, does the trick. Read a partial list of the saved. My task to 

improve it. Dance time: foxtrot cum bosa nova. Read again… 

‘These things happen’, said Martha,’You are the subject. Let’s eat.’ 

A working lunch.  

What do you mean no nibbles ; no says the little man; was that the real cause. The aetiology; was it really just five pints? Fizzbuzz of issues. Higgledus Piggledus. 

Corpus of Whoppers, toad up and bleating, sheepish in a deepish way; late afters proffers full sky sunsplash (wholly hour after);  

soft city commuters meltdown; eponymous–offices, chard, gherkin, cantaloupe; smell of old man’s pissoire; Getting down to pesky modern  

brutishess; days off between engagements do slf critique; grand old opry dress rehearsals; spirit of indifference goes viral;  

fat old sun on back beats all. Quiet whisper assignation. Enjoy as long as poss. Departure lunges heave; seat of one’s pants airways goes pop;  

bumptious in Bermuda; soon find out in stir; blueberry muffin eruption…swinish purple people holding hands; inkspot revivalists launch a 

polka;  

whispering cars talk behind your back; rabbit in the headlights, waving a red flag; must be summat up. Incident report, Little black bookie. 

Small change got busted. Right place; right time. Round up the usuals; chuch ’em in the cut. Leave to fester. 

World remaining out there shrank by one iota overnight,  a heroine bowed and bloodied rises, sporting a theatrical limp, rough sea rolling gait–penny for them? Make it snappy. Alligator bap, ham and mustard; 

no open fire prepared, little black mark against; having a haircut , sloe gin coming. All about sleaze. Dark unberbellies. The Loon of Gloom–available for hire, 

devastate your friends; no money back guarantee, Sign along the dittoed loan. £ 5/7d old money. A Ploughman exits. Coprophagia.  

Blue malachite takes the bickies. Food & Drink…the later works of Charles Kingsley. Ballantyne’s Coral Island Westward hoocus pocus. 

Letting off stemmers…will you ever? High wind in Jamaica. Fairly blows your coconuts free of moorhens. Down on poverty farm.  

Sucking on a sand eel: a sign, I tell you. Mo Robinson turned up the radio to drown the screaming coming from the ashtry.  

Twenty guards go howhere these days. Fool’s game. Quit. Easier done than said. Pnuemoconiosis. Blue scar highbrow, 

inflicted by a rum set puncheon. Whole village turned out. Orders from the Gaffer. 

A long way from the Titanic to here. Time I ask you. Why then smack the elephant? Is there one in the room? If noy why not say. 

In a swamp you drown exceeding slow. How loud can you scream? So many hypotheticals make for a seige mentality. Too scared to go out 

to vote. You will get stabbed on cctv. 

succumbed to brownies after curry; fell foul of a spartan diet of bauhaus pharmaceuticals on wry 

 

Observe four milk bottles; an open window; smell of rashers; water running; think i disappeared 

This october is…muddled/ mud led… 

 

 fruit tree fell flat on the path overnight, Sis. 

 What’s worse is the clipper needs a flint 

the hog has got a limp and they’re showing Colonel Blimp again– 

think I made a good move there, Sis 

Building up defences. barriers against incoming assaults, oncoming insults…  

 

Rambling yanks selling themselves, haggling, hassling, making it happen get you  

edible cities, orwellian flaneurs kick up little fuss, wallowing in transience, the real 

estates on power thrive within, switching off your phone helps, a foot in the door 

every time you look at it, the hustling 

 

England beat they All Blacks fair and square 

Yoga Granma pops her clogs aged ninety five 

I got a girlfriend whose paler than that 

in a certain light. People like clever rudeness 

it sells, shifts product, makes life worth it…unbearable 

 

all that dross to watch on the box 

just aint got time for that 

fretting wrecked pursued 

wracked by doubtful bladder 

making blood from madder 

pigment well no matter what they tell ya 

limped over four hundred before the big picture started– The Boyz from Brazil if you must know 

twenty three a time on average; things change when the little orange kite appears 

luck of the typing error; randon chance meets strangers talking shop; never call 

them twitcherism people who vibrate a lot or you will get a well deserved cudgelling 

for you troubles 

Is that any way to talk to the leader of the free world? 

Gruffalo Gals slough round and subside in sunlight  

coronated silhouettes; Coltrane’s joy de vivre plays  

a love supreme parts one and two banished for being boring… 

not that I claim to be a barrel of laughs just now 

scratching round for a gentle inn to get out off on 

Perhaps a long deep breath of fresh will turn a leaf to grass 

out of the blue  

a  

flyer in the hallway flops,  

a  

squalid mop and bucket affair,  

 

a golden sunset lurks,  

burnt okra radio silence  

maintained throughout proceedings  

This chink went on nigh an hour 

a tranquil afternoon in a rustic shire,  

the  

window left wide open  

to catch the waft of pizza dough,  

not a hint of breeze  to pour scorn on,  

the venerable old guttersnipe opposite got taken  

away by big yellow rickshaw this morning.  

She had looked fine to me last Tuesday  

when i found out my heart was on the blink 

 

Dark news at five thirty;  

now that lie in feels a cheat;  

no dinner round;  

could lose a few pounds i suppose;  

less to carry out 

less trouble for all involved;  

nearly said concerned. that would have been  

presumptious of me. 

weasel words and upfront rhymes  

sip sups of sea and blow your mind 

 

Called Minnie, sexchanged horror stories, fleshed bone and bled out for punic consumption. She sounded bonny. It’s gone eleven and the day is furtive– like docile tabby cats 

Parcel arrives by zero hours human drone… 

fresh lung in a foreign tongue; chess plummets apace,  

need to press on elsewhere (shake a leg, stir a dreg, fry an egg…) 

Applause, sincerely long applause,  

marks a pause between moments,  

in this rarely gripping performance of something 

or other by Liszt fom the uncomfortably reupholstered  

pews of the Fairfield Halls in Croydon.  

Up far too early, three or four depending on your leanings;  

man dies like song in desert 

;  Radio silence prevails: car revs, door slams, gate hasp rattles. bronchial gasp, heating goes on, light fades to white spot… 

this aint workin’… (now you tell me!)

all day wandrin’ 

chasin’paddy wagons;  

moats and dragons 

Date rope adjudication;  

le living on the march I see;  

a cook’s tour of brain softened cities;  

keep it coming 

bring it off Hoss

 

Rage always follows minor upsets;  

Grenfell ghosts & crusty dredd;  

all falls yet nothing falls,  

all is permitted so 

nothing is admitted 

ecumenical with the truth 

on this your election day…English Bob 

Tamara Tapioca Tacita Dean Dream…radio face; cinema mind–funny by gaslight; smoke filled tombs; 

lusting nicotine; gotta give her up; tobacco model; reflective twist of pleasure; swept up outsides, twelve steps 

here twelve steps there–it soo adds up over the day. What were you getting at. Stop smoking walk more breath deep 

use you wits wise up save money move on… 

 

Banjaxxed House of Atreus, a long line of horribles, black pudding eaters indulgants of the long pig, supping sweet mead from a black ram’s  

norm of plenty, abandoned land off Elis island, a place where squid and teapots thrive, bartered for a hen’s tooth by a passing fury,  

ground zero on which to build unreal estates, 

from which to go out and multiplex, little island hoppers launch campaigns to rid the world of ogres. lycanthropes and  

foibles of the weird after watching Harry Potter and the Lughole of Wax… 

Sunset of Halloween, Number Thirteen in full raven glory. make sure we got goodies, or forfeit conceit… 

 

Breakfast with Boris sent me reeling in the dark; marginalised, off the page, rain swipes; showered it later, toe looking rough, 

hospitals are for heroes with death wishes; back to bed, back to reality; rain drives, night falls, at chess I lose, listening to a 

plaintive Diane portrayed by Chet. Want out of it. Want into it. Just don’t want it just now. An inconvenient moment for hope. 

Antigone nicked for traffic violation. A partidge falls from Daedulus Towers. The culprit flees to Crete. 

Why so low? Did not go and face the musak of humming dumbing gadgets, the percussion of arythmic heatrbeat, the humiliation 

of underground car parks. Will I live to regret forever? Self compassion aint my stock in trade. Empathy is for others  

more deserving than I. Sacrificial limbs poke out of the glassy fish pond, above the mesh is awash with redwings, the is wholesome  

muesli over priced. Learn to forget forgivingly.  

 

England out classed on misjudgement day, on the wrong end of a whupping. Late to arrive at the match could have played a part, Huge writes baloney

poor chess spawns anger & rage,  inner mountain inflamed requires quenching or air to fan the fire; do nowt weekends are killers; 

sullen zilch predates oneness… 

events unspeakable: childhood scripts, teenage heroines, unsympathetic caricatures, milk of human kindness soon turns sour

goes off in the sunsplash optimism of good times round the corona; joycey wordsplurge auto scroodles reveal slips of tongue and groove; 

look for a hanger on to besmirch; smarty pantisockracy; he who rools the roost makes the weather wince; the purpose of this visit–bad night greets

aftermath, open the doors and windows wide, receive inquisitors at love towers; sweet love of pure rapids over running cataracts. 

Four Two Seven Tops ( A Neat Conjecture )

Sure there was wine
Before my sighs did drie it: there was corn
Before my tears did drown it.
Is the yeare onely lost to me?
Have I no bayes to crown it?
No flowers, no garlands gay? all blasted?
All wasted?

festive nestlings playing up, most het up indeed, catch my eye

getting jumpy, get the wind up

Beware of swarthy eggsharks, capricious pine martens, pernicious rapine twitchers.

flurry overwrought inside, see insecurity in frenzies uniformity

Consterned as cops vexed fledgers issue squeaky peeps awaiting flaming June in rueful Minnesota

Carried away on arboreal gusts frisk baby leaves,

Martens fast encroach

Two skips is all it took

Two shakes of a lamb’s tail

To wipe out a twentieth century life

spent keeping head above water

Rarely if ever ahead of the game

Trading off lives with careless talk

Having a bit on the side

Giving as good as you got mind you

Sauce for the goose

Is sauce for the gander

Always an eye for a chance,

Jones’ suck up the Jones’s

unhinging light air traffic and small furry animals

o’erleaping avarice; now we send in the homespun drones;

reinforce a no-fly zone around the wasp factory;

Forthcoming static times hang in

a balance of increments crisis;

Till a feral cat let out of the pisspot of despots, tosspots & all their worthy heirs

Declaims this barely adds up to a steaming heap of beans…

So much for no grumbling, Nigel. First thing that came to mind. Poor me! Poor characters, all on the samey-blame me path. It bores me frigid Nigel.

Aja is an island freed of its natives by slavers in 1863 and remained so until the mid-sixties when reclaimed by six intrepid schoolkids

robbed a boat and hid out there for fifteen months in perfect harmony. William Golding was a god bothered soak in his spare time.

Friday on my mind (for it was a Friday); shifty manoeuvres are afoot; a climate of suspicion prevails; all locked down with nowhere to go.

Wanna topic. Lack a tonic. A gin and tonic for the troops (gifted clear sky-blue ideas plucked free from the aether); thought of it twice and got frustrated.

Climbing up the walls. Whit Monday radio news: windows open, summer day, lockdown wobbling, allure of mithra, life lived in one day, back to shitty work tomorrow,

half-term hols from shutdown schools, many will never return, social fabric wearing thin. No subject crops up; birdsong soundtrack palesjust gone nine

comes a moan for all seasons, rut-stuck in a gruesome shamble. Fire breathing vipers lick crusty ankles all hope evaporates for peace come flaming June.

Lining up for the second wave, the seventh is the strongest. Rip tides plunder those too dumb to flee, disbelievers and romcom tourists gather at the river, bored shitless by these endless update spiels,


divine fingers flexed; sick of reflection; noises off confound; fucking radiators hum; mind drifts to arcadia; planets lost to soundbites; melancholy flower; limpid soft eyelids droop; molten magma tears flood in; fissure on the ocean; squinting barracuda scatter; flying fishwives bitchy gossamer; caught shoplifting by mantrap anchovy; collective conch shell ears twitch; beach fine tooth back combed sparkles; electrifying sighting; touch static ocean tingle; giggle nervily; end of media for twelvemonth; never on to follow fashion; mores to boot save a fortune; purchase rawl plugs clear of conscience; epistles replace missiles; dreamy brave new worlds; a sure solution to eye pollution; perpetual indulgences of the ear; waxing lyrical no doubt; blessed peace and quiet; profaned by preposterous plugs; fingerful of secrets; no go dip your wick; careful with that wax eugenie; dunno where its been; a butterfly picks its nose in siam--and wham; bob is not your uncle;

 

Swinish Multitudes Arise!

Grimbeau

back 2

Let us pause for smoke and prayer…

Teeming sardines in the Arab Sea

A billion starlings over the Fens

Sensing food and predator.

Poor old religion gets another lambast

Courtesy of these withered digits

Hens in the back are revealed as angels,

a blackbird coyly juggles rats

Louche, pleasant, twisted opiate dreams.

The bayou shoulders slow magnolia

Grits for slow, big, muddy river that quivers

Magnificent regardful like a python

Weighing up the yearly weenie

…in the Jacuzzi of good and evil

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Dudes de l’Etoile

Covered in purple dark spots is if mauled by myrtle spores, I changed under and over shirt. In The Hirsute of the Millennium we soon learn it is for the best to indulge both Brabancons and Chevaliers− flip sides of the dominant coinage−praise them equally in the font of(_^′)spare methe hassle′ italics^′

We try again to toll the bell where Zen flows, seems afar the berg of Grim juts apostate on the jagged skyline. Marauding friars and godless nuns make merry in the meadow hereabouts− Maddered children of the House of Love accursed by local soaks and wizened sinners that frolic mustard green and orphic twisted in night’s duplictous shade, St Salacious dribbles Augustinian ale on the mellow mass come Sabbath. The House of Nassau lives on the tithes and indulgences thst follow.

Why Wednesday already! No day for godless Chaplains to feel vacant. Hedges and history confound the third eye. Gregory vii is on the prowl for followers of the sacred owl, hounds surround the cuckoo’s nest. Milady is at vespers. Good job that I wear a vest emblazoned with the dripping eagle, venal thyrsus and divine cheroot. Plague confounds both mind and body politic.

‘The world’s gone nuts’, a little one shouts. All the elders hoot, A flash mob gathers. The child repeats: ‘The world’s gone nuts’, the mob chants back,
‘Eudes de l’Etoile…
Eudes de l’Etoile’

You is the One

Herr Hemmingway’s new fangled card tricks garnered whoops of ghoulish euphoria; cryptic brevity entranced the maidens in the downstairs parlour. Whip cracks of girlish giggle and pinch play pierced the dour scourge of curfew night. A carriage pulled up before the sombre granite Manse. A parcel was delivered in speedy silence.
Casaubon ate freely of the doctored truffles. Mary Ann rested back to wait the denouement, puffing gaily on her long clay pipe and petting Daniel Absconda, her Sicilian spaniel. All would be revealed next Monday in The Infidel if they were spared.
*
Silas Marner pitched up unexpected the following day, dressed in limpid russet homespun which reminded Willoughby Dunlop, the virile batman, oddly of withered futuristic inner tubes.
‘Your luculence become you Massa Silas’ Dunlop growled with syrupy menace. ‘Do you bear subversive notions for the mistress?
‘That I do, swarthy vassal of capricious empire, that I do’.
Willoughby scuttled away to disarm her, the sound of his chains echoing through the capacious lobby as he went. A smile of brute rapaciousness broke cross his ashen face.
*
The eagle dripped on Zion as Ezra piled up the faggots in Parousia, Tertullian gazed on amazed on the third day of the shining wall in the morning sky. Nereus took his leisure, replete in still dry oceans. What was in those truffles? Precious time had drifted away. Calypso’s suitors fed the fowl with pith and peel.

‘Nightshirt!’ demanded Funk.
‘I shall be with you shortly; in the fulness of time; post haste; forthwith…’
May Ann appeared at the door, dishevelled, her cheeks a roseate hue, panting.
‘There you are, my dearest. But why…’
‘A spot of bare Pilates for the circulation. Doctor Jasper’s orders.’
A boneshaker hustled over the gravelled drive.
‘Mice?’ suggested Casaubon, aroused.
*

‘So Dude, what’s your beef? I post a lot? I am a friggin writer, a communicator. It’s a subject to object relationship. Intercourse. God proposes: man disposes. That kinda set up. So quit your incessant carping, Buster. Just because my numbers turn out better than yours. Get a friggin life Godammit!’
‘Discouraging words from Herr Hemingway, Adolf. He gets so reckless when he’s on the saucel I’m sure he will come round in the end. We all have our eccentricities. Our peccadiloes and foibles.’

But Adolf was inconsolable.
The rest is
Off course
Is history.

*
Chesney reached inside his great coat pocket and took a slug from the vial in the brown paper bag. The liquor! Dammit the liquor. Huxtable was wrong. He took another swig. It was then she emerged though the Bourbon mist of the cold November carpark. Zelda Zuchenslooper. What a broad.

‘Who you screwing, Small Fry’, she chirruped from some distance, yet somehow audible over the hubbub of a not inconsiderable crowd. All eyes turned on Chesney. He cleared his throat. It was now or never, and he hollered.

‘You baby. Only you. You is the One of it’

Fin

I Entertain the Roosevelts in the Dark

I entertain the Roosevelts after dark;

oranges, Maltesers, tea…
a splash of morph and a chess ,
it does not mean that much to me.
Another week fades
into history,
undead beneath a cypress tree.

Not been out, seen no one, done fuck all,
I have spoken on the phone to people,
my beard is bushy,
my skin is blotchy,
I am more flaccid than overweight.
i have ploughed through old squibs and haikus

i have drained my capacity for self belief
these ruminations
churn out more words that will
never find anothers eyes
this is freedom from responsibility
attained through tedium

Windbags & Old Lags

Below a bleak zoo
on an inhibited earth
where a bawd of directors
calls the shots
where the whitehouse turns to sickhouse
and cottage hospitals to cheap hotels
Sent an encrypted message to Trudi
eavesdropped by earwigs
who hang fire on the scrupulous
order to make picture houses shut down
as the Chessington Hippos
wallow in deep pink shallows
eavesdropped also by earwigs
chomping shallow blue tomatoes

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