Grimbeau

Scroodles

Category: Magic Realism

Spencer Tracy

shocking-old-photos-8

Now,

A medicine ball props me up.

I find myself on a purple furlough

from San Drunken to Alchotraz:

fatter, stupider, floundering

wondering

Why –

which is always a stupid question,

as I well know

(should know better

but don’t).

Regrets?

I’ve hand a few…

Locus: Teeter

pmtoyPx

Perm-interrupt of daydin,

blight noise,

like thistledown,

calls me down for

an absinthe

and

an anchovy.

Stubborn as

stillborn longhorn,

I wrastle with my conch shell

and succumb

Ustulation

Whoops!

A post

Apocalypse

Calypso

Ivor Cutler, poet and songwriter, in 1997.

Veronica Lake

il_fullxfull-385361053_3b8a

…after a prolonged retreat

back in the sod-all,

back

to the ordure.

Like micky spillane

Complete with

A brain

In a drain

 

Rope a Dope

BLOG_nabokov

And that, so it was, till now.

The journal arises

on Whitsun Saturday after a prolonged

jojourn in the land of the tetrahedrons,

inspelled by inchohol (how are things in inchaholy?),

in the leantime a beggar become,

so injured the risk of recovery is

now  a threat, like church twice on Sundays,

or school

anyday

 

Blue Peter!

 

tumblr_mas7xfPTcV1qkvbwso1_500…here in pen if not in umbra.

Tea and a pea. A pea and a pee.

Tee tea and a Tee-tee.

A tepee. A PT109. Pete Bog.

A pea on a tee. Peaty Bog.

TP McManus. Tipperary

Tim. Peter Purvis…

 

 

Brunch with Gabo

 

Marquez-11

 

Bacon & Egg

on White,

Celestial

choir sings,

 

Quarry versus Man.

‘Let any among you who is without

stone,

cast the first sin.’

 

Sanhedrin rules apply, Oscar.

 

Heads off

for Harper.

Rock Kasbah.

Whiten

Sepulchre.

Breastfeed

Granite Post

Office Party

Pooper

Brooding

romantimes

Easter

2014:

A

Risible

Epic

Is

On.

As God is my Judge…

1001

Rashers for rascals Passion:

I-Plays the sound track,

a bit happy clappy,

Nevermind,

Just

Oldtime

Tradition.

 

No such thing

Today in Oxford,

Generating widespread Consternation,

the Contemporary Council

thought it for

An Erotic Installation.

Forethought…Paws

 

Smart,

smug Smart Alec sat,

soiled by ibex ordure,

popping vindicates

at established fates.

Marquis de Plonqueur

Mozart Violet echoes

conch in Sea.

All is stop.

No ghosts,

(One did look!)

 

Pilgrim's_Boot_-_Finisterre_-_Galicia

 

The door!

Is that a dog?

Would it, could it be?

Back from killing conies,

flushing out fat farm rats,

haring up hills,

racing gannets on the strand.

Yes, don’t be silly,

it was here,

it was her.

Fresh as the icy, blue zephyr,

that bid me: ‘How are Ye?’