She came in
through the bathroom window,
crept across the
bathroom floor,
glanced into the bathroom
mirror
slipped out through the
bathroom door
Five hours interrupted
agitated slumber:
fleas, knees, wees, mice, wind…
then by a landslide
due to popular demand
democratic vote
solely renditioned
me to imprisonment
In The White House.
~
Head bagged in muslin
Slick black Cadillac
At my insistence
The invisible security
exercise the dog.
For I am become
President elect of Poop.
Defender of the Fart
~
When will I be shot?
Brutal destiny or what!
Why is it always
just me it happens to?
If I wish really
hard can I become
an innocent bystander?
~
I as usual
wake up blown away
hit the old routines:
soft shoe shuffling,
rolling and folding,
paying scant attention
to what’s on the wireless.
~
Sure, we all pretend
how shocked well deep down
glad it is not our turn.
Sad but true but sadly true
Never reheat pork
after sundown time
it blows your bowels
constipates your mind
Five Two Ten…
Jaunty Jolly Waltz
gone weird
Khachaturian Masquerade Suite
It is the evening of the day…
hungry and thirsty I wait
on Junk Food & Spurious receipts.
What no paper money!
Oh My God!
A Bank Holiday
On other people’s
Misery
An irkstacy oeuf jumbles
Gyges’s Knitty-knotty knot
Mad unravelled oakum-pokum
Squirrels mate via screensaver
The August Bank Hillbilly Farce
Weekend descending apace
Poem posted, home alone, drinks at three
with Little Me
and my charming, closest, confidantes
Myself and I
It’s quarter to three
Green witch meantime
Just me and a near
Distant petrol lawnmower
A big lazy sun imputes
Soon golden autumn
Which draws to the end
this sad episode
So it’s one for my Baby
And one more for the Toad
yesterday gives way
seven tambourines crackle
ecstasy elides
Phew!
So much to do
and
no point in any of it;
just plain old survival;
avoidance of mishaps,
relief from pain relief.
No simple sample pleasure.
*
Eleven it says:
Morning constitutional
To the shed and back
Phantom bouquet
bonfire smoke whispering
Secret trysts at noon
Thrilled to bits I don
A cloak & gagger…
*
Phone calls to invite me to luncheon;
of course,
I accept with puerile alacrity.
What ensues is vintage time warp!
Clear the decks for a couple of hours;
put pressing needs on hold;
suspend more disbelief.
*
Hot colouring book trend offer:
one legged dormouse to play Plato;
Dizzy the Womble pours scorn…
Exasperated! Go touch your heels
Take odd drugs on a building site
Discover unknown places
‘…there he was sat, bold as brass, plain as day,
stone deadpan serious, as if he was my judge.
I ask you!
Bulling on about ‘the great doings & dones’
sounding like a brat bragging about
the darning of the sacred
socks of Nemesis… ‘
In short, one may conclude,
a blow by blow account
of how wind gets out the bag:
why the turtle turns turtle,
and the attributes of the perfect carrot.
It was to his credit that he chose
to demean himself to
the baying hordedlavishers
that dwelt upon every word ,
as if, perhaps, they were his last,
and,
that they would get a mention in the will,
despatches, or the mind of God,
his father,
who was in heaven-by-the sea.
‘…By gum, though, he sported lovely, kind, peepers
and one of those whimsical smiles
that always give you a tingle in the dingle.
Herdsman, craftsman, tradesman
it does not matter a bit.
Once you have the twinge you’re gone…’
Apparently, he was also handy with a band saw and spoke shave.
‘…Jesus! He could come smooth me anytime he fancied a touch of craft work. Have a bit of fun, fun, fun on my autobahn.’
Grimbeau 