aeronaut
juggling knives blindfold high wire walker minus safety network digital curtains tremble snide comes before a fall wolf howls a banshee cunning stunts complete descent to terror firmer
Grimbeau
Scroodles
Category: Music
October 14, 2016
Palimpsestinous
Palimpsestina
The beginning of beguine
The hospital bed years
Miracles happen
Wonders never cease
Over eight short years
The blink of an I
In the word was the begin
Ning of the beginning
October 14, 2016
Our Johanna
Llamas debasement grotesque apartment
Crime of defacement breaking up discouragement
Wind weathered true blue purchasing new health food
Dead geraniums ooze oilslick crude
Drongo emerges in bits
Feverishly exiting crumpled
recidivist’s drunken carcass
black tank prison stint
Blackness thick as creasote lint
Inky pinky molasses
Sado the Gaoler steals a parting kiss
Through cracked thin pursed lips
Chokes on wreaking Treacle
spattered malodorous pelt
Obstinate bowels make last
Opiated loony stand declare:
Get scrubbling hobo: self, dwelling, pots & pans
Get fed up hobo, get water, learn about money
Sort it out this next week, clear headed, full of hope
Those just past were the
annihilate days of cynical grumbles
Everyone left is old or sick
Learn to play misty again
Sport Roberta Flack jacket
Long hot shower ahead shop
…
So you think you can
get away with writing bling?
Get scrubbling Bobo
If you wannabe a Dylano
Learn how not to sing
Like Perry Como
…
Seeing and being seen, thought Our Johanna, avoiding the mirror the nervy curtain call. October slumped and flu jabbed lies twitching on the sofa, lookin’ for a gofer, time-Honoured joker, flaky, shaky feeble hand…
Mary-Anne—whatever happened to Mary-Anne?
Got carried off in a big white van,
maimed her old man
half a gallon, rustic jam
Bubbling away in a frying pan
Clung to his hair like a Rubberband
…Will Quince fulfilled his fruity pastoral duties
sound bitten realists winced when they misheard…
Put in a shift—3 hours liquid refreshment
October 7, 2016
Emma Euphoria
Emma stood blank in half-eight demi-light thinking causes for one shit up & two shits below: stale toast, ancient Camembert, fatty olives, decaying salad, egg & chips, late night salmon, oily roast root vegetables, midsummer nectarine, squashy pears, rich cream cheesecake, bottle of white wine, after eight mints, dirty glasses, yes, dirty glasses…
Dirty bedclothes full of stale flu-sweat, skin flakes, dandruff, and smokey house dust
Sink full of dirty dishes, greasy black hob, sticky fingers, slimy forboding corners, swampy miasma, fairy lights hanging from the dogroses.
Handel’s Water music strutted on the wireless. Which came first, thought Emma, the water or the fireworks? Was it linear or circular? Either way it was always the same old Handel. How very reassuring. Not.
The last two weeks had oozed bad news.
9.34
Radio daze…
10.58
No post or calls? Not yet. Have a think. Check your incoming. Read about writing. Perhaps more radio. Tidy the kitchen. Why me? I’m a cripple. A raspberry ripple. Wheelchair Bound. Simon and Garfunkel.
11.04
A sudden burst, a rat-ta-tat, six minutes at least it lasts. Nothing moves but these twisted fingers on the keyboard. A radio monologue describes an airport encounter. John Mortimer.
Namedropper, that’s what I’ll call it. namedropper. James Joyce Carol Oates.
A Friday in October.
Sounds awesome.
afridayinoctober…
nearly gave in there. The urge to blog. SOS to the world #3064…fills the time & I like it. quiet. Just the radio. Me & the Radio. The wireless. The Other Girl by John Mortimer, that’s what it was. Calls? Check for incoming. Clean up. Put the kettle on. Polly.
13.36
Foodless and fancy food means cook sausages—will it be with chips?
Afternoon dawns grey mass dormant air leaves dampen droop slump
Weather report done.
H-bomb calls about F-bomb. Emmer Greensward, Reading. The long haul begins. Chips or the full Monteverdi? Tough call, tough, tough calll…
—Trim your beard, you slob
—In the fullness of thyme, Master. The fullness of thyme.
Get out some haddock to deforest. Is this a hangover or just bog standard gastro-enteritis? No fried eggs, no chips. Green salad, Tabasco, shallots, spinach…
Euphoria
October 7, 2016
Unction
marrow cosh express forgiveness for sins bless you now you're free to go death queen's bed confession keep it in the family eyes are the whores of the mind keep it in the family pictures on the radio mind's eye cinema
October 1, 2016
Next One, Please!
Out of my brain at
Five fifteen
The dreaded words slide
Out:
‘Why not stick on the
Downton Abbey Finale?’
As soon
As they slipped from my mouth
A mighty echo
Expanded to explosion
And with a drawl portended
‘Surely, this Soap was
the
Soap
Of God’
End
Of Empire
September 30, 2016
Hoboken Bridge Blues
Stress (I trust you
concur) is mettle fatigue.
Bridges fall down
Glorious Hoboken had
One just yesterday
I saw it on the telly this
Side of the sad pond
September 18, 2016
Silent Movie
Expansiveness: opens can
Campbell’s Condensed minaret,
relaxes the nape,
ugly fruit peels off
serrated lid and…
expansiveness
Don green marigolds
Wash and trim the fat
Fetch blue bucket to town well.
Meet yellow bucket bearer
On the way back for
first time in ages…
Tell me, what is she
up to these awesome decades?
Sits around by the
window,
writes a lot on a frog, waits,
checks the screeds over
and over again,
looking for acknowledgements,
acknowledgements, acknowledgements…
proof that something happens
somewhere spontaneously sometimes.
The rest of her life is spent
in worry-work, going back
over things again and again and again.
Forgetting, forgetting stuff
does a lot of forgetting.
Nothing much to dismember
was there?
September 16, 2016
The Wreckoning
Half a month’s worth in one just night: flash torrent chaos rains, freefall-bomber hits the skids…rainy, rainy skies, up since just gone three, realigning smooth riversides, knee deep down in autumn sludge
What a difference a day can make. Summer slams its door shut. Batten up and hunker down. Get the winter brain in gear. How lucky are you feeling?
Queasy feelings rattle me, the lift abruptly shudders , time to light a candle up. Something is lodged down deep, I dare not cough it up, spit it out.
I fear the consequences of seeing my black soul writhing before me on the cruel floor. The witching hour comes. The anthracite dog will not go out in this—
Why should anyone in their right mind? Outside we dry some fire sticks, make day light, watch the last bee suckle, have one last puff on the trumpet, set the drapes on overtime, Mr Hands! We sail for Costa Teabag
In sanitised thatch cottages sad eyed sod busters float before my Jolson eyes, some optimists wave resigned white hankies from upstairs windows, the others stare blank pure dread and sweep past on the ruthless ebb
September 14, 2016
Volunteers
lost souls of america counter revolution count er revolution climb off your wooden ships fly away i can see from across the pond that you are from the other side... we love you love us you don't need us take your sister by the hand lead us far from this foreign land very free and easy
Grimbeau 