By Grimbeau
“Your universal joint’s gone west,
its serious,
I’ll do my best.”
He frowned.
The tension was killing me
so I kicked it off
hard in the nuts.
It bolted.
You could not see its heels for dust.
“I’ve cracked it!”
exalted the wheelwright
straightening up.
“You had pre-stressed oil:
now you ain’t.”
I danced with joy,
it started raining.
The rain dance
is the only
dance I know.
ickle blue flowers
freckle privet hedge-walled lawns,
postage stamping ground
indiscrete neighbours natter
revealing deep deep shallows
concerned by sleazy kid-stuff,
cuss dustpan groaning agony as it sweeps, hovers, circles
drifting in & drifting out of giant confidential trees, fed on
squirrelled snippets, tasty morsels of carnal chicken nuggets,
positions now untenable,
unrequited lusts
& shrivelled cold roast potatoes,
Doors slam shut the it’s indoors
Assuage vituperation’s quenchless thirst
Swill down viprous vodka and
tucking up time in gross grandma slang…
tomorrows will always be
better when you go about
schizo, dizzy, fizzy, thrill packed lives, leaving us remaining
snoopers to wait & warp & wait while getting better every day
in every way in body if not mindfulness…
Icy blue tooth midnight
piebald cobalt crystal spurs
weather maps depict it
switch blade knife sharp leaf
eviscerates crisp
punk sepulchral dawn
~
After pork roast Leaf dropped off
dumbstruck fair three hours
woke to find the same before
wooden stair to Bedfordshire
…
That sweet Blossom, Tearsday,
loved all things
Petunia,
Luxuriating
there whenever Chance permitted.
Chance was a creature of habit,
smiled on Tearsday three times
on Thursday mornings
between Shipping Forecasts.
Gerald the Burn-Out
dwelt in anti-cyclones,
and traipsed in murk and squall.
A most unlikely couple: Which they weren’t.
Words can
not describe
Quite what it feels like
on those occasions
When you’re lost for words
But do
not worry
it’s
not a problem
as long as you know
what it is
that you mean
Does it?
Yes
Panto tuna lute
open gee gnomic
ale eminent tory heir gone
tomorrow sorrow scars
Desultory smoulder
Pine cones gloaming wormcast
Seashell hermit crabs
Grumble gruesome gulls gambol
Shirtless maggots candy floss
straw fedora hats
Buttons elopes with Blue moon
Sickert sicks up cockles
Muscles lifts bar belles
St. Trinian’s run riot
Beside the seaside
Beside the sea
Sunny spells and gormless showers may pop-up,
Sure,
who knows what to expect?
Scattered,
varied temperatures throughout and persistent.
Staggered,
Meteorolological incertitudinals
Mindboggling,
The algorhythm of the Boolean
Windmaker
Yesterday,
when time stopped
forever,
the dreamcloud
smiled knowing
that the sly
sun was out
with some chums
1
Worsted, Tweed, Galician calicos, reamed
cotton screed, diaphanous silks, dour,
coarse linens, Chinese screen tableaux
of mislaid epochs, safe and unsafe tapestries,
sad stacked in the old mead hall, the conference centre,
the hubristic hub of soft arrogance now
Abandoned.
2
The once sure folk have fled, melted and mutated,
The meek ones headed for the hills, they crouch
and mooch grumpy, sucking stale breadsticks
in their holes, the old caves and calcified barrows.
The diehards fought foolhardy rear-guard actions –
smouldering stockyard bone stooks stand pyrrhic
Sacrifice
3
With the Labyrinthines gone away, nature is displeased,
Ever abhorrent of void it convenes
Bison, heck, leopard, eel and titmouse,
Louse, curlew, ptarmigan, to settle
a modus of repair. They soon conclude the obvious:
You are only as good as your last, worst
Algorithm
Grimbeau 