jute fruit (polka)
To dotage an
antidote:
threat & hope
weave and knit
a knot
night of dark
sun
measly done
think if you
fit in to fit
pre-shrunk
siege modality,
a beige mentality
the new banality –
Temporality
Grimbeau
Scroodles
Category: Music
November 19, 2014
for her
She got seen like
Clytemnestra
a knowing smile
a complex gesture
November 17, 2014
Sophist
The Vulture Man’s
a shallow fellow,
his words well said,
his thoughts chrome yellow
November 9, 2014
Dogwatch
…time moves in an oboe polka from slug
slow to impish sprite, flits in heavy privet,
snakes under town tractors, hides behind
wheelie bins, always a nick ahead of
the quick, automatic click, the belated
enough glance, the I’m looking for you look,
off it skedaddles, darting, flitting, slick
freezing stone still, mischievous, keen alert,
a baby Pan messing in misty morning moonlight.
I am busy elsewhere, cursing these bogus charts
messing with focal planes, vanishing points,
hocus-pocus concepts of moon, window-
frame, yucca and squint till boss-eyed, purblind,
I miss the goings-on altogether…
November 5, 2014
Home on Derange
Bay mare breeder, electric ether, head crazed
by on goings, sore to touch, touchily.
Tetchy little englander brought down to size
Colour, gender of choice, within boundless
Law: The Right of Light.
Torches rally, burn the beast, cauterize the earth.
Escalation, destination desolation:
regard slow time; report the truth; received
communication distorts, parts words apart.
Depart!
Darwin’s social agents popped in for a peep,
Pick up old confetti, soaping soft,
the right boys to do a boy’s job. Inside
a cringe (a swallowed outburst still emits gas)
and a barbed stiletto of rebuke.
They and I are hamstrung by pace, them too
much, me too little. Who is piggy in the middle?
The I of the storm The individual…
The news is abroad, I wish it well on
its journey to ignorance, words are so cheap
They are Free
October 27, 2014
Sunburst Blemish
Half-Eight wait
Coffee pot sunk,
Clunk, glug drunk,
Sunblaze
amber green
blue morning,
slosh galoshed
plum blinkered,
spooning gate
…
wretched short
phase too
brief fleet
on two
hour glass.
Tangerine days,
tamarind leaves,
verdigris craze,
sunflower lumber
…
Sing off tune songs,
whistle dry
Humdrum:
Sunflower
Oils marzipan,
line Rumour
Road milk
road with
cornflakes.
October 14, 2014
The School of Varied Knocks
Soft knocks
To shut or open the Zen on the Art of Bridge,
Faust, Kafka – easy listening!
Getting my bearings, settling in, making a mess, feeling awkward.
The Bridge. I know this place well, too well. The scene of the crime, witness to disaster, base misdemeanours, sullied by cleansing agents, violated by animals, jumbled up, dumped on, dumped in.
The Bridge. Here dreams are born, and mares lived out. Stories of horses; hateful verses, grudging verses diluted. These are bad vibes. This time will be different, this is not a retreat. It’s a crucible, a temenos.
The Bridge. A place to prepare yourself in order to be yourself.
to shut or open the door at whim.
Knocks are needed to gain entry.
Hard knocks.
October 13, 2014
has the bird flown
Precocious as a pre-fab sprout,
Faron Young plus thirty-three.
The hour: the one before the darkest,
Clock the dour, prudent, tourist jurist
loping slowmo from zero to one,
distilling memento mori ad hoc.
Just like a Rigoletto really,
or a cigarillo nearly, huffing,
Puffing, somewhere in the night.
Grimbeau 