confetti western
Jackie Wilson spoons
Kings of Marvin Gardens moan
heavy air waives swoon
goodbye to cruel pearls
farewell to audacious souls
Searching out some body that works
Under spigot bigot skies
Grimbeau
Scroodles
Category: Music
June 12, 2016
As Jasmin wafts in Obtuse
debt
Of
a
H a t st a n d
leaden burden sighs
too overly familiar
onerous chatterbox
clueless lingering
playing at bewildering
fingering moonscape scar tissue
a farce of threadbare
sackclothed habit
starts me up from
overwhelming reverie
June 12, 2016
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…
June 10, 2016
sWarm
fRon Dawn to DuskNess
UnFurnished busyNess(sy)
Toilet bOwl on summer LawN
Sufi the (wOnder) hoRse
spenDfirous sweEt suMmer waft
made sunRise ParsiMonious
June 9, 2016
pUrrsYmphOnus
whIrrR Did she gO?…
liKe that iNNer puFf ( goEs pufF=)
gO speaK to sHaron
WhEn one loseS a HaiRdreSeer
it Resembles varioUs liMb(s)
June 5, 2016
Sphinx Gang
asPhalT
mEmori(es)
uGly
grinDer
Round eleven it burns down
The engines are turning,
churning up
dormant subterranean turtles,
laying flat kerbs for giant cars,
upheaving monitor eggs,
yellow men
coral them in sandpits,
soon they’ll be hatched out
by stray, broody ostriches
weary, careworn nomads,
whose ivory gonads bristle
in brutal
municipal sackcloth
bend to add
another egg to the pyramid
June 3, 2016
sumer if icumen in
She Sings Good…
Way downstream
in Calico
Waters rise when spring tides surge.
How very dare I
meet her now
And brave the dangerous voyage?
The grass lies down in
the valley below
Where milk cows numinous sit.
After hands work
scripts that never end
Dawn to dusk when
the cuckoo spits
June 3, 2016
amanuensis
As I was working
on my stare I saw a face
that was not there
it wasn’t there again today
I wish my stare would go away
Grimbeau 