Pishogue
Cyril Sloth ate all
through the tempest
spanking the panes,
whipping the shrubs,
wiping the eyes of
Sussex and Cypress
Grimbeau
Scroodles
Category: Magic Realism
January 9, 2015
Buenoventura Durrutti
Teal unreal
on that charred
Hard clay night.
Thinks: worms lap
sun-drenched blood
On midday grass
No buttercups grow there.
True iguana weather: no cicadas.
Another good skin shed.
January 9, 2015
Catacombic
Rustles rumble;
Murmurs gruff;
Whistles whet;
Bristle thistle…
A thrill frisson
flowers
like quicksilver
January 9, 2015
Cuban Heels
The mist lifts, revealing droopy,
vernal, Amazonian gloop.
Parallax, do my eyes sin?
In the clearing, by the wheelie- bin
The sure sign of alien matter
on the ground,
Gin Pink, silver-bowed, twenty some.
Beside these espadrilles, wellies, moccasins,
Clogs, Hush Puppies, Wellingtons…
Meaningful action of a sort,
concrete intent shown
But no feet in sight to date,
A gradual escalation,
Built on compromise,
a virtuous circle of footwear
Like a fairy ring,
a presence in the region.
Something’s afoot
Nearing completion
After the socks,
come the feet and arms.
January 9, 2015
Erazed
Cool plus
the art of cool:
Isometrics
‘woman’s grudge is
women’s definition’
pink chink
on a chin,
a sliced face
to sew:
True.
The camera
is the woman.
It never lies.
January 9, 2015
Port Said
In place of dreams:
Streams.
Steam Packet
Steams
Big white
SS Hooper
Smiles
Mallards dive South
In Autumn
Turin shrouded
hemp sack fog
vanished
Will there be Candles?
Yes or No –
Combustion
January 9, 2015
Laundry
Good, that stopped the table wobbling!
Went out for a quiet garden moment,
just as I was warming in the soft sun
of early autumn, the army commenced
lawnmower war next door. Disappointed my
plans were scuppered, but undeterred to gain
nothing from my venture, I fetched the washing
from the line and back indoors, though failing
to spur the idle into action, I
consoled myself with the thought of green socks.
January 8, 2015
Sugar Basketeer
Prizing open cocoons
from inside drains
a body dry.
Such a struggle!
The sheer effort!
Yet, for me, somehow compelling;
the ecstasy of sublime writhing.
Hunger drives it.
Just can’t stop it, help it,
like the test your
strength hammer and bell.
Timing is all.
Breathe, hoist, slam.
Or perhaps a
better metaphor is
Greco-Roman wrastling?
A Dormouse in a
stapled paper bag,
rampaging like a
fart in a trance.
is fatuous:
Oryx in a coconut
gives a notion
of the dimensions,
but at least the fear of asphyxiation is passed …
(The discerning, attentive and functional
amongst you will realise that I am on a rest break).
January 8, 2015
Phlogiston
1
Sun inside, sun outside, hens free.
It’s quarter to three: to my right is a hyacinth blue hyacinth,
elsewhere a dove coos.
Why no workies?
Smirkies, shirkies, quirkies…
Focal plane down the drain.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
2
Woke on the water, choir in the sky.
Lost habit, out of the swing.
Naked apeshit visit.
Longers.
Two two two will not do: simply nots.
Time not spent at it.
…
Pomes and yarns roam and darn days, nights, hours and showers: eats, drinks, & sleeps. That’s the trick, Mick.
Here’s a right one.
Duck!
Crystal was shattered. Ratty Vanfrau was at the ablates again. Queer going altogether. Formegandros was a right old wrench to leave. Never spurn a taverna. Still tempers fugit…
`His head’s gone.` observed the rookie.
‘Tis the time of year for it.’ said the chainsaw massacre cast.
‘Not that bloody rubbish again.’ Cried the crowd, aloud.
Castlemaine was a horny bitch for King & Gentry alike. Insatiable in cerise tights, pacing the Home Office, looking frantic for a booster.
‘She cooked your goose, Sir.’ Said the minion, Vince, up for a good twatting.
‘As waltzers go sir, she’s a dodgem.’ Castlemaine stomped.
January 7, 2015
Message to Roxanna
Up
for apparent reason
undisclosed.
Harangued
power firm larcenists
with deft wit.
Bathed in bags of lavender oats.
Too much, too much
insouciance.
Satraps gather
at the Gate of Gosh
grovelling for a living
Grimbeau 