Fat Fly
Play!
We have play
On
A dog day.
Sweat and steam.
Sultry dream:
water lilies,
huge emerald
pink voilet.
Swamp and mire,
fire fish fly,
like pickets…
Grimbeau
Scroodles
Category: Magic Realism
August 22, 2013
Gin
Postcard:
World Banker
A Week of Wakes
High tides beckon
Water snakes
Sacrum idyll
For Padjamers
Get tranqil,
In Calma…
‘Weather’s here –
Wish you were
Nice.’
Tarakos is
Not like Cos…
So next year…
Charabanc to
Eudaimonia.
August 22, 2013
Sult
Boiled eggs & pills,
the day distils
sun syrup.
muggy bees
drip honey,
legumes swell
and burst,
we eat sweet
orange vine
love apples,
call a giant runner
Bolt,
lazing on a soapy afternoon…
August 21, 2013
Biscay
A cooling breeze
up here
on the dark side
of the sun:
bins rumble
sleepily,
need a feed,
or do I?
Dander up,
Dumbo down…
float like a
gutter fly,
sing like a flea.
Get shorter!
Elmore shores
in the mean
streets of heaven,
mixing it
with the Inquisition:
‘Who hid the Remington?’
‘Peter the Punter.’
Eyes dry
savages muzzled
in dense desert
whirlpool,
vortex,
abyss,
bliss.
Terse nerval Ermintruder
Grunts and moves on.
Rambling yak cheviot.
Hear that harp!
Whisking up
A maelstrom
August 20, 2013
Farce of Habit
08:10
First post
(Come to the cook house?)
done,
much improved mood.
Scents of new sweat.
Accomplishment.
Done some thingness.
Stop turning
everything
into a poem.
Done!
August 20, 2013
Cat’s Eyes
As I was working on my stare
I saw a man who was not there
He wasn’t there again today
I wish my stare would go away
August 18, 2013
Flotsam
The sole sleep
deep
under high tide
blue sparkly
shingle & spastic deckchairs
nudge and frisk
the green beach.
A sun spurns the night.
Long way off a siren screams:
‘Come in, number 76! Time for winkles.’
August 16, 2013
Who are those Guys?
Raindrops keep falling on my shed
and just like the drain that is
too big for its head, epileptic fit,
though I’ll never ever stop my brain by explaining.
So, I’ll go do me some walking with a Nun;
she said that is no way to kingdom come,
acting like a bum,
then off she runs,
with my loaded gun.
There’s one thing I know the shoes
my uncle left me do not fit me.
It won’t be long till the pointy toes
will start to nick me.
And raindrops keep falling on my shed…
August 15, 2013
dead stuff rots
Herring aid skippers quell a smell
A Wounded woodpigeon pukes and revives.
Cream soured Tom Tits choke on the bits
Swifts scoop up gherkin shards and stiff plummet.
Seems about time to sweep up the back yard
Alternatively, build a giant rat trap.
August 15, 2013
All that Fall
Opiate wood earth
brunette even glass,
leaf plumes.
Rain insists easy as
heavy tears of Mayo.
A Cuspid day
Fangs a lot.
Frond reaping:
marking out the autumn field
for fallow deer and rabid ox…
-Windows shut?
-Yea…yes: Clunk.
Smoke and mirrors.
A soft, lilac world
turns turtle purple:
Tempes Fuchsia
Grimbeau 