…floorsucker churns, provokes
gaspings and breathings
safe depthiness is spored
making me splutter
like a pudgy, tetchy baby.
This grief hugs me hollow.
fig lungs implode:
Lites
Bladderwrack
& oyster beards
strangle raddled eyes
Blasted by terror
we stare in mirrors
for escape not reflection.
Look there only when
lamp posts resemble fate.
Napalm funburst sunset, oilslick bitter tears
Give way to pork smells, rumbaba, cockatoos
Squawk, rustles of last gasp, reeling tigers,
plangent oozing, floating, clades and phylums
make touching, silken, floating islands.
A
Mohawk moon bounces
off the back of lamas,
wheat settles down the valley,
faux electric fences snigger,
old farts: new beginnings—
shock of the old gone claggy
all I learnt forgotten now
lanark new lanark biomass
cri de coeur upsets blue crows
conspiracies of silage grow
When I take the air and roam
the tombstones and monuments
the iron door clicks ajar –
the cycle is complete.
Only now the air is sound
is it safe to do the rounds.
When I check the last twitch,
the most challenging flitch,
the one at the top
of the heap grips the grill.
A zither plays loud mad brash.
I pull my sword and euthanize him.
Then & only then the loading can commence…
Purple sloping Wonderfield
Bog cattle hugging below
Sat like the statue thinking
Halfway up on a blasted stump
Beneath a humming pylon
Beside a scruffy gorse
Sits a painted horse
Myrtle twizzling track
Made respectable by
Tarmac and white strips
Desiccated coconut flakes
Magnolia and cherry blossom
Windblown dusting cows snouts
Makes them shuffle, snort in concert
Painted horse sneezes along aloof
Rain, sultry rain.
Opaque grapes,
leaden sky fruit,
burst on copious,
oil dark
plush olive,
swooning,
spaded,
luscious leaves.
Three chirrup
kaleidoscope toucans
tenderly engage
a dopey puffin then
hunker down within
the livid dense canopy
to share a light
repast of slender wafers
over a convivial round
of knock out whist.
Tuesdays,
no matter the weather,
is Housey-Housey,
a rainforest favourite
throughout the ages.
Beastlings from yards
Around always
Attend
Where was the spoon?
The Spoon – the fucking spoon!
Water was running,
Loud and constant
running water
You left the fucking tap on!
He could just make out the familiar, nasal tone.
My eyelash is awash with milk suds
Not quite a froth
Clambering from the cereal bowl
Was arduous hard
Like pond weed
And gypsy tart
Porter slugging as rains beat drown
Drove Old Bell to Horse & Groom
Afternoon swell ales & gasbags
Grace free air conditioned flatulence
Caught up on long lost anti-heroes
Remnants of tandoori knights
collapsing in blue suede abandon—
where’s the point of cleaning up
when it only gets dirty again?
~
Midsummer rain birds waddle
Ritually tantalise boney ghosts—
Ship infested once again
Ratty, puffy curse filled Zen
Stuff their mouths quick silver till
pink gums bleed sprout gold teeth
& Tongues ooze slurry, weak jaws creak,
mouths deny, despise and munch
So cruel now once so wondrous comrades
~
Wishing one daft pond farewell,
Waltzing slow through naked blushes,
sniggers, pissed emboldened hushes
What a little magic cannot do
To geese mislaid & drowsy Frogspawn
Six thought eight count nine bells twice—
disturbance brings division thrice—
strange waters let misrule connive—
~
strawberry noses, blotchy skin
mischief makers, caustic gin
floating on a wave of ale
along the ditch & cricket pitch
beyond the sodden common
all downhill around the bend
past St.Mary’s obscure spire
stark granite suburban Dead
congregate for wakes & ale
…educated right hand
toyed with me but briefly
before easily putting me down
with a dismissive squib
and a scintillating boat
hook that landed me sparko
on the seat of my scruples
— did not see what that was
coming for the life of me…
anyways flattened him good
in the third with a lusty
left upper ignoramus
wiped the smarm off
his valentine in a jiff it did…
Grimbeau 