Voices hear off. Who’s that?
Sotto voce, surely not…
Laryngitis? Going round.
Dan the Man,
very quiet, very soft.
Hard of hearing what?
Panic: King of Song breaks out!
Windows flung shut,
open air freshener
acrid Lavender.
Look out window, see blind woman,
shout hello, silly me
I can’t hear her, radio off,
mute mate shows up, funny looks.
Is it me or you? Tragic
You me: who we? Comic
Heads start to implode.
All I said: ‘Nice Day!’
watch blind woman talk away.
Below decks I ate wild mushrooms in scrambled eggs,
warm Parma ham,and a choice, prime cut, brown bap,
Oodled in buttery herbs, then, replete,
ascended , fortified to sullen work
after a digestive puff
A glimpse of sun is better than none,
must learn to be more grateful for these, my gifts,
the vessel drifts, time floats, ice too.
Less temperate climes, incursive east wind,
will blast and burn, singeing our lashes
saying only we have committed sin
a mortal sin, the sin of not being them.
Leeward, a cacophony and splashes
Dolphins, a school, weirdly mocking, unabashed.
Up at the crack of doom and so it pours,
acrid quicklime, gregarious sash window,
drone buzz, sable confetti, nasal toot,
sootfall, gasp, volume, mass. What folly, what
pulchritude, what bafflement. Life was a
giant veiny nose, a red herring, a
wanton flop. So be it. Que Sera, Sera.
Horace Day, Matt Busby, James `The Fact` Durante…
pock dugout, dabbed down and dusted copious
cloud of potassium permanganate,
spotlighted by Lazarus, light reveals
white head and lost tribe of Erin: Quilty’s Pals.
1
Worsted, Tweed, Galician calicos, reamed
cotton screed, diaphanous silks, dour,
coarse linens, Chinese screen tableaux
of mislaid epochs, safe and unsafe tapestries,
sad stacked in the old mead hall, the conference centre,
the hubristic hub of soft arrogance now
Abandoned.
2
The once sure folk have fled, melted and mutated,
The meek ones headed for the hills, they crouch
and mooch grumpy, sucking stale breadsticks
in their holes, the old caves and calcified barrows.
The diehards fought foolhardy rear-guard actions –
smouldering stockyard bone stooks stand pyrrhic
Sacrifice
3
With the Labyrinthines gone away, nature is displeased,
Ever abhorrent of void it convenes
Bison, heck, leopard, eel and titmouse,
Louse, curlew, ptarmigan, to settle
a modus of repair. They soon conclude the obvious:
You are only as good as your last, worst
Algorithm
For the truth must out
Starbucks fakes a cold shower
Obstacular slowness after
Hormonal chin-wags
Static hyperactive void
Crystal set crackles and spits
Arthur Streeb-Greebling
rings out loud & clear…
Crowded house of noise
One thing at a time sweet cheese
& piccalilli circus
cavort resembling gavotte
Jericho charcuterie
Mobs baying for blood
~
House of C’mons up in arms
Speaker Berkow drops bollock
Wendy housekeeper tut-tuts—
He who cares wins out
Losers, suckers & bums guffaw
All mouth and trousers
What am I waiting for now?
Food and full abnegation
Of any responsibility
Carry on Contemptuous
Sid & Doris Bonkers
Ashen kneed Ron Face…
Destiny: Tumbrils
Time for a bite after a
long, steady haul so far—
Playtime!
Play nicely now
you
hear me.
No more pelting rocks
at old ladies backsides as
they are passing by.
They
know that it’s you that’s doing
it.
don’t pretend they don’t. or
me either.
& never make
Out you don’t or you’ll
end up like
the others
Hanging from the yardarm by
the cross for crimes and
misdemeanours.
That’s you.
a misdemeanour alright.
A bloody misdemeanour.
—Stop that.
stop it now,
you’re making I
laugh. She said
she had
a big bruise on her bum.
Wanted to show me…
No!!!
I did not. It was enough
to keep a straight face
as it was.
Silly old cow.
Best stop it though, luv
you might have someone’s eye out.
and you don’t want all that do you?
just play it doggo:
Minus Catapult.
Graffiti scrawled on outhouse
wall reads encrypted hogwash
post-traumatic non
compost heapos coins
the passer by leaning over
sideways sucking on a thumb,
doodling on mad scribblepad,
critiquing spondylitis,
resurrecting monomyths of
last year’s potatoes, shrivelled
up like bollocks after nights
of desperation…weeping
silently over shadows
Who that there they say
-thought that dead or done away?
Beloved beloved
Come back to smote your
beaten heart like drum
machine turned up to plenty
on the Rickenbacker Scale
of enough is not enough
Black Sabbath just passed over
Until the next time
I remain yours and
truly Paranoid….
Car roof frost crept up
Under myrtle pantry hall;
Jeered snored Slumberball;
just one piss taker detained;
Monday prospects—cautious
Delicious crock auspicious:
off white slate, slick black chalk,
no shiny patent shoes,
dust puttees pour moi—
Falcons ravage Patriots,
fight onto twittering end,
Slippery stout slops puddle,
Scrumbled suds scud up aloft,
Posties perched in crowsnest crofts.
Pigeons sport posh headgear,
epaulettes & bronze brocades,
hail to the chef…get out of Dumfries,
fast as your eggs will carry you
Gloom hawks fulminate
squawking health iniquities
preaching avoidance
stretching gruff luck
fortifying condolence
munching prescription vittles
condemning bad violence
falsifying falsified
circumstantial evidence,
smiling as they chill—
chronic condition grows worse
suitably abject, scathing:
Acting out the old soldier
routine again then are we
watching souls swim by
in mute glassy repartee?
Only in short bursts these days
Can see no future in it
Let the dud bury the dud
Off upstairs for a good stretch
Let out for bad behaviour
roam glum rollin’ hills
& Tassies of Cnoc an Iuir
Is it you
upending the beginning?
Yes
And – by the way –
How’s your head?
Dead
dirt dust
fine talc
How’s mine—
is she there?
Is she
the quiet one
in the corner pulling
on a woodbine
stogie?
Yes.
Smoking woodies bare boobed,
hairy chest stark summer sun,
short sleeved bri-nylon pastel
shirt open brashly to the waist,
walks staccato on buggered feet,
thinking god knows nor cares what.
Buddha-like inscrutable archetype.
Head full up cranky wonky dreams
…
Leaf’s thoughts in the
sunken garden late
good friday afternoon, as he
with pre-stressed concrete-
like neck & shoulders; tired eyes
bloodshot from catch-up daytime
sleep from a bad night remembered
that kept her up all night; killed the
dead time with gimmicky schlock
horror film at three, copious lurid
cartoon blood oozing from every pixel,
aware of skull cap thinning
wildly, itchy unkempt beard,
a wretched sight altogether to behold.
So, Leaf sat facing the late low sun,
toyed with jet trails and midges
crowding the sky, teatime birds
come and go, stopping to perch for
a last warm on the naked rowan,
and head off, out of the cold, indoors
to manic evening nests, Leaf too went
back indoors because it was still there.
Mason Wells survives his third bombing; random business this life. Populations swarming here there and everywhere. Radical fluctuation, rapid shifts in direction, some weird algorithm, brown patches on cows…get the washing in!
Time bumbles lopsidedly
Westward murkrays entomb shade
six-forty Pull the blinds close to home
Call it a day…Day! Ninety eight not in;
Lawrence Ferlinghetti
is
born in 1918
& still lives
Today in
2016
Beat that!
Grimbeau 