Knee Bay
So, poor thing you lost a leg
&
kept your feet.
Do you need
a garter, a kneepad,
or some spare
Trouser legs?
You only need to ask
see the bright
from the dark.
Tell me what you see,
Grasshopper?
Grimbeau
Scroodles
Category: Magic Realism
December 15, 2013
Squeezebox
gift your worst enemies:
deep sea anemones
December 15, 2013
Eggman
Loosen
Dismantle that cord leash
Get to know a feather boa.
Feel fine hair attend your neck,
Floss, gossamer and flim.
‘Who was that me once know’
Mister Morphosis sinuated.
Giggle on the down slope
Hands off: Freewheeling.
Joy for Joy’s sake
Cherish the maybes
Let regret fleet
A phase of years
Some are called days
Better to have lost and loved
Than never to have lost at all.
December 14, 2013
Insult to Injury
Mortality spooned high and heaped:
thick cold blisters, ampule-like.
Reason’s varicose vanity disgorges
on cheap wall-to-wall.
No pulse.
It was all in vein,
nano hulks flap brief resistance
unflapped flow proceeds.
Thumb pressure,
white nailed myopic frogman.
Sleep above the waves.
Beneath the wined ark corpuscles
All them short lives.
December 6, 2013
Passing Clouds
Approaching Four:
Darkening December Afternoon.
Radio and slippers on.
No pipe, or Drum,
or wattle daub.
No dread tattoo.
Still too early for the Angelus bell
– no one sounds one round here anyway –
not that I’ve heard.
Never saw one neither.
Leafy swell yesterday,
clear night so far,
foggy dew unlikely.
December 6, 2013
Kerosene Canopies
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.
December 5, 2013
The Gnus
Wind has gotten up,
must have overslept.
On the coals up north all night if you ask me:
stopping trains;
leaving bad leaves on the lines,
causing hazards,
hazards strewing huge bleak,
Elkless causeways.
Whistling down closes, windswept
cloisters, alleys and avenues,
soft, flyblown parades and promenades.
The North and the people are tough, soft things.
They can take it, like cockneys in the Blitz
or Peter Sarstedt in empty Biarritz.
December 5, 2013
Hand in Glove in Hand
Handless in daylight,
dumbed up,
heavy eyed,
slumped posturelessly:
Thinking crafting…
Dreams all smoke and needles.
Warm hot drink in the dark of dawn.
Pink blue grey shadow:
dark orange glow of cold red brick.
Opposite
Car crusted:
Sea salt white sand on metal green frozen kelp.
Neat work by near clear
night.
Tongue twisted morning garglers
dash the mirror. Cough &
splutter.
Showers follow borne
by
Wind from a cold place
December 3, 2013
Little Woods
Trying too hard; put simply,
can’t decide where to start.
As you mean to go on?
As good as
anywhere.
So here we
are again.
The square one.
A saying that comes from
Radio
so that the
listener
could follow on a grid
in the Radio Times.
But where was the square one?
The middle, the corners,
In the net?
December 3, 2013
A Blute
Tried something ingenious:
no go.
It’s getting colder but still:
no snow.
What’s it to be tomorrow:
dunno.
Not the same as today is:
hope so
Grimbeau 