Pardon
‘What do you do when the muse shows up?
‘Hide the biscuits’
‘Huh’
‘Oh yes… stands to reason five months on the frozen tundra, hunters after ones antlers’
‘Syringe your ears’
‘Not yet’
‘What?’
‘You said Ginger nears’
Grimbeau
Scroodles
Category: humour
June 21, 2013
rain stops play
Pinball and Dickens, it will rain soon: the window will be shut.
Our hero is unwashable.
His father done bad investments.
Cold uncle with the sneery clerk do not help.
What is worse is that is he must go
faraway from this familiar terror
work for Squeers and dwell in his world.
Back in London the dirty oiks cheered him
on his way and gave him a letter.
he did not read it, forgot it.
We worry about him.
He drops the letter, retrieves it from the carriage floor
and reads:
‘…you can come at night. My spilling has gone with my wallies. Pops.’
June 20, 2013
Humpfrey
Bogart rides dumb waiter to Casablanca.
Greenstreet in fez and white suite whips flies dead.
We whisper secrets in the Fool & Bladder
The spies, Leech & Lamprey, eavesdrop us.
Landlord Russ Catt, Suffolk stone-licking champeen,
claims Henry the First once choked on this spot
in fourteen-fifty-three. Throbbing bulbous
bloodshot eyes are persuasive. Once he licked one
thousand stones in just one hour. Languid lipped,
pueumatic limbed, a gurgle ball of gungey
frogspawn in his throat. We departed when we
had heard him out feeling modestly pissed.
June 19, 2013
Phew-a-Brew Time
Nine and a bit of fun boy three and weak sun;
cold fingers tingle
so…
perhaps downunder for a warm and a brew.
Up since five: must stay warm. Limp lions cut no
mustard & cress
June 18, 2013
Alfred Lawn Tennis On
Cledgy, mired coach clay, flint, chipping stone way
Or road
Demi light with stars
Open
Big front window room to roam
Sloth slinks up till dawn and bedtime: dog in
Dog out
Pooh! One is grateful for a humongous stale
Log in
Watched over by Winnipeg beavers
Well-ordered sawmill workers of Saskatchewan
Never so big as the mad at the bbc
Fawning sycophantic plum voiced on
A day to dismember ken barlow charged
By bet lynchmob for druidic noncling
With children seven so far Prince Zorba:
Not dead just snoring.
Heed the two houses dwelling opposite
Growing in daylight I cannot see what
I am writing – very exciting and
Unusual typing errors do not
Matter with a pen: legibility
Is the thing. Speak to my legible
Razorbill; get advice and nails cut.
Five a day everyday: honeysuckled.
Police in california dampen
Cold when asked about a disappointing
Flatfish takeaway from Martha’s Backyard.
Cannot see to count the spilt sugar in
Lap swept from the working surface landing
On my leg and cascading to rest like
Sand I am shorsighted and the shadow
Of my seated bulk all obscuring
All that falls before me I will smoke at
Four fifteen am. Single Ladies Final
Between Black Amazon screaming Yank
And White Caucasian screaming blond Yank
Rain unlikely and likely for grunting Spaniard
Man and grunting something Slavian man
On tomorrow, Sunday. Both of these events
Take place at the Roland Barthes tournament.
Fields of golden snails and periwinkles
Crushed by generations of bash foot
Stamping sliding budgeoning foot crunch
And make a sandpit in Paris to play in
Over the weekend and other times if you
Are rich, powerful, and influential
And it is not pissing down a deluge
For there is no ceiling roof for refuge.
To and fro: in and out of play all day
Work done over load and friction empty
Ball. Sweat is the weakness coming out we
Are oxygenerators on a grand
Scale writ large and mind still clear swift sharp
Mass, movement, power: but, slow, paused
Interrupted. Patterned by traditional
Regulation says the court is too big or small.
Time, light, weather, rootlessness, atmospheres…
June 13, 2013
Bulletin
6:14 PM
Alone all day awake and asleep, done
no work, went out on the balcony: the
batman plays the Stradivarius – Blink.
June 12, 2013
Beachcombing
Tefal
Lopsided head, dead on the sloping strand.
Smooth, sea polished shingle sizzles around
The victim of a mindless, callous hunt.
Transparently, he was born a mutant runt
Misfortune dogged him from his strangled birth
Until annihilation put an end to Bert
When it came the blow was random
His assailants worked in tandem
And cornered him beneath the pier
And despatched him swift without a care
The denounement was not so smooth
As they kicked him in the ocean crude
Tefal sank but not to the bottom
His killers thought he was forgotten
But he was borne by longshore and by rip
And in Pevensey he rested in deep silt
That is until a passing fisher digging for lug
His preserved remains out he dug
‘What’s up’ said Tefal examining his head
‘You’ with saline brevity the fisher said
‘These twenty years I have been there
Dead and happy without fear or care.
Why do you give me such a stare?’
‘A hermit crab is crawling from your nose,
And there is distinct molusculation of your toes.
My name is Fred and if I might
Let’s go and show you to my wife
She is a fan of oddity
That is why she married me.’
So, from the strand they did repair
Tefal picking worms from ear and hair
And went to Fred’s house and went right in
And Fred’s wife gasped ‘Well, look at him!’
Fred explained the circumstances of his discovery
And Mrs Fred decided on Tefal’s recovery
Was plovers eggs and strawberry jam
And slices of her homemade ham
That she had cured with her own fair hand
With the leg Fred found last year washed up upon the strand.
June 11, 2013
Betrayed by Biscuit Barrel!
Heroin Sonnet (One line is absent!)
Vermont’s Original Bag Balm tin laments
a pair of glasses (snapped for advertising
porpoises!), the child’s toy tractor, green
gin trapped naturally: there is floral décor
garish redolent of that chocolate
box, or some Huntley & Palmer’s biscuit tin
containing uncut Ammanford smack?
They ran him in, they ran him down: Besmirched
his name all over town. Self-righteous lazy
solemn nonsense! So, all good things must end
in silence. They were wankers and they
knew it; and he, apothecary, James
E. Blewitt refused to play their silly games.
Grimbeau 