Ellis Island
His wife,
his daughter
On the game.
Flooded delta:
Monsoon rain.
Eye catches Ad:
‘Give us your whores,
Your puddled masses’
Should have gone to
Evening classes.
Grimbeau
Scroodles
Category: Music
July 12, 2017
Here Comes Everybody
Characters surge in teeming, broiling tumults
Who, what, where, what are they yarns compose
spun, weaved, forged, tempered, cast, distorted
drawing, and withdrawing breath
from titbits of storylines,
Here and there, then and now, you have
Upsizings, threats, strengths, and weaknesses:
absurdities, absurd ditties, odd ways and beings.
See all these in a blustered, supple,
yielding, ready-berried Rowan; or in a tumbril,
air, toccata, fug, or others mirrored Mindseyes,
especially on these severe, unsettled October days.
July 4, 2017
On the Shieling Lawn
End of Palm Mystery
Case closed post infinitum
Time for me hols
~
Refuel the battered keys
‘BFN—TTFN’: o F f
Formalities observed:
~
Put out blazing cat
Left in empty milk bottles
Turned up thermostat
~
Opened all windows and doors
Counter-counter espionage
Drones disguised as flies
~
Circumnavigate
Naff squiggly lampshade
Armed up to the teeth
~
And don’t forget
leave a smoking cadaver
on the shieling lawn
July 1, 2017
Pang: unHappy Bunnies
Quite
Out of the
Blue clear new true
Was it you
That gave me this box of frogs?
You know here
(where we come from
from time to time)
we do not play at swopsies
mopsies popsies or
flagrant fluffytails
June 27, 2017
OeuVrE
‘good eggs only sitting room just one careless owner for that is all it takes dammit (handwrit small on uterine wall)
intriguing i thought
it matters not what it says
any more
hidden liminal signals
perfidious albumin such as I
call it sure:
whipped up some frothless coffee
no more seethes raves screams
or ruin six egg omelettes
exit means exit
eggs is eggs is egg is eggs….
after all is said & done (that is) dot the eyes and traverse the devoTees in a jiFFy
June 26, 2017
sound walls
Want! What do I want?
Came as a shock clean out of
Pretty much nothing
Like an asteroid
Fairly blew me away though
In the blink of an eye
Shadow of what was
No not a shadow
There is no sunlight
Write about something
What…& there’s food
Food sighs lists mean choices
Think imagine remember
Something nice on offer
Stock answers ten years
As if I can remember
After that deluge
June 12, 2017
unClear tHeRmO wAr(ph)f ayRrie:
elecToral fAll ouT (eXtreme fey HoovaH- aTishoo! At issUe!! A Tissue!!!)
settEes gently All
aRound
(my HUt-n-TutT)
conStructive nOiseS (OMnes F-oFF!)
ecHoes in…
e.c. O’sHambles
scRumPLed Sand’s tOneD disneYlunTs
deR phoney war isT uBer
eLeveNth houR
(p)RepaRations
underwEggs fu:r
voleSoul sLaughter
June 8, 2017
Colloquy
—Burnt out, or so you say. All burned out. Dried up, but like what—wadi or toast, candle or storm? Where there’s life…where there’s life. That’s what they always say
—Toast it is then: crusty brown wholemeal toast burnt black, iffy thermostat…
—Not bad, not bad at all
—No heart & soul mind you
—Husky, though, even a little dusky (ha-ha)
—Coffee brown roasted funnel dregs
—Still damp!
—Left out when the sun was at it’s…
—Zenith?
—Strongest
—Wow…that is real burnt!
The plague years, they said, burn themselves out.
A peculiar variety of auto da fe
It would seem to have been
Quite Divinely ordained.
Fire starter & hosepipe; belle, bookie, & candelabra!
Have they been moving that furniture around again?
Yes. They never stop it.
so much so sunshine & showers
seldom clash these days.
So well do they behave themselves.
And clouds no longer burst.
Not since many a long year.
Dry as salvages we are:
Mesos, stackpoles, arid drumlins…
Lithographs remain,
mere shadowplays, traced on pre stressed concrete,
splashes on toppled sarsens, drizzle on banished dolmen…
sure it’s better than nothing, anything’s better than:
‘That’s what they always say’
May 31, 2017
Now…Where was I?
Dark morn sings heavy pox since muse took
some vital dive and ate my words
Sure, some got rescued by tree beast and now it
dwells in silly mode
a link and the easy magic
rolling from bed to let my thoughts and
dreams is done and gone. Now, morning is just
me, the kettle, a microwave, and the
coffee pot and I better get used to it.
Thus, today is a new same old as I
take coffee and drugs and head upstairs
by Tardis to the muse with black keys and
switch on the shipping forecast and the yarn.
Now, where was I…
May 28, 2017
Nightfalls
Clunk it went when
Night fell
The hobnail in the stairwell
Since my booting accident
I can’t hear night fall
At all
Grimbeau 