Haystack in a Needle
A faff later…
and another…
piss,
banana, mars bars…
squid farts…
By
Black
Box
Grimbeau
Scroodles
Category: Music
March 19, 2014
The Threepenny Bit Opera
Coming up to six.
End of nice days
after tomorrow
just
for a few weeks.
Auric sun on pink wall,
new bronze age.
Savers saved,
survivors not.
So no cause for concern
then:
Sufficient unto the day
is the evil thereof?
March 16, 2014
Floot
An hour later
the faff is on.
Sun is out,
chicks tweet
in ply fascia,
ulster hymns hum,
care will come
and relieve
Mafeking
peace and quiet
March 12, 2014
Ahoy! Sentient Being Ahead…
Over in the corner you make out a stranger,
you make out a stranger across a musty room,
and suddenly you know,
you know even then,
he needs a wheel and a chair, and a pen…
December 17, 2013
Query
Something smells
like burnt Mamba.
It must be
Dinner time.
How can you
play the lute
at a time
such as this?
December 15, 2013
Squeezebox
gift your worst enemies:
deep sea anemones
December 6, 2013
Passing Clouds
Approaching Four:
Darkening December Afternoon.
Radio and slippers on.
No pipe, or Drum,
or wattle daub.
No dread tattoo.
Still too early for the Angelus bell
– no one sounds one round here anyway –
not that I’ve heard.
Never saw one neither.
Leafy swell yesterday,
clear night so far,
foggy dew unlikely.
November 22, 2013
Tarsus
Posing on the pooper scooper
Rowing caressers dip oars in
The music of time:
Flutes…
Lutes…
Pipes…
Silver dipped sails billow. Below
punkahs wallah cupididly the fans.
Ruddered Graces – Nereids,
Drape golden richly perfumed cloth
Of gold
Whose scent
Wafts the dumbstruck multitudes
Asleep
November 20, 2013
Ideal
Dark just winter.
Nine o’clock snooze.
Dream? Insomniac dishwasher.
A brief history of crockery.
All enamel is utility.
Hell freezes
under green almonds
and thyme withers
on the vine.
October 4, 2013
Nibbles
The Rev Nice-Grub paused life struck
shopping list of savoury dainties before her
incomplete: savoury quails eggs, spiced cheeses…
Holy music meandered ox-bowed
midlife muddy water curved solidly,
strong, steady laps undercut the bank
vile, grass clod bays and inlets for voles
cans and ducks. Captives get marooned
on a cut off clump, excised by wake and wind,
and wave forlornly: we wave back, hollow eyed.
Our off white hull stirs large laps as it hums past,
scary aftermath loosens more sods that collapse
under the webfoot gait of ducks and swans
and wellyboots of anglers and toddlers
leaving small gashed inlets for thin quick snakes.
…crudites, nice dips, potato chips, nuts.
Grimbeau 