Grimbeau

Scroodles

Category: Music

Random Day: Jan 2013

Fragments of early marked pottery found on Can...

Dawdling in the dark, bed on fire, live wireless;

bailiffs at dawn, rogue elements everywhere you go;

Poet sent to prison for life in Qatar,

Emir takes big umbrage; World Cup queries.

Peon of praise for the Tunisian revolution did it,

posted on YouTube – whoops-a-daisy!

Emir’s wife sealed the deal on an

‘ephemeral, vanity project’

(BBC Today, Tim Franks 7.40 am)

insouciance advised for Davy Gravey –

zoot alors! Zoot suit!

Zoot Sims and crystal tips;

cellulitis suspected;

floccinoccinihipillification.

Wilko’s got the big C, no chemo on Canvey;

pancreatic cancer, ‘ten months, every little breeze

and brick in the street – I’m alive!’ Roxette! I cry! Dr.Feelgood…was that the news that day?

Lucky Little Lady

The Tamarind dropped anchor and despatched a

purple emissary

who announced the fate of the sweet, eyed,

lovely Maiden

from the coast of Malibar

to the swelling throng on the quay.

It appeared that, for once, the trades had been kind:

the Pirates of Somali

were living it up in Bali

English: Balinese stone carvings found in Ubud.

You Jest!

From The Sketchbook : Yompers

Wise fool,

state clown,

so no impact,

mock the weak,

so to speak,

ridicule the powerful,

doss down

in the vestibule,

drool,

cool…

 

Nose to grindstone.

Hard slog.

Trudge.

Yomp.

This is peace!

More mud than sludge.

What we put inside eachother…

do not nose. So, what’s to do today?

Sun, food, cider, shower…

Parsifal’s gone fishing should anyone ask.

5:15

English: 3 days chicken of Kosova Long Crowing...

Was that me for a moment?

The gardens soaking.

The slugs are sliming…

Get yourself in the moment!

The day is dawning

The heat is rising

Make some tea in a moment.

 

…night without dreams – I bet I had some.

sheet’s on the floor – mattress peeping.

Cockerel is crowing – wants some feeding.

Shipping forecast – possibly later…

Sit in dark with daylight growing,

waiting around for the morning news.

Chill on my legs as I make a Rollie

Looking for symptoms of the flu

Casual thought about making coffee.

More Mary-Ann with the shaky hand.

Stand up, sit down – issue a moan.

Pull the curtains – must do the lawn.

Have a wee-wee – or have I been?

Faffing about since the clock read 5:15…

Icarus

Icaro cayendo / falling Icarus

All the trees

are brown

and the

carpet is grey.

I went

for

a splash

on a summer’s day…

Elevenses with Igor

Rites of Dionysus, 4

Rite of Spring on: unseasonably

Pleasing accompaniment while

Sitting daringly naked with towel

To hand and an eye on my genitals

Ensuring they are not overexposed

To the sun.

Having been burnt before like this.

When the Rite is done

(less than thirty minutes)

Back indoors to lunch on cider and crackers,

And, gently creaming my largest organ.

It is the centenary of this Rite.

 

Send in the Drones

A honeybee (Apis mellifera)

Wasn’t that sick?

Are you aware?

Me lying dead on the ground,

You in mid-air.

Send in the drones.

 

Didn’t it miss?

How can they prove?

One who keeps tearing around,

One who can’t move.

Where are the drones?

Send in the drones.

 

Just when I’d stopped opening wars,

Finally knowing the one that I wanted was yours,

Making my entrance again with my nonchalant air,

Sure of my lines,

No one is there.

 

Don’t you love force?

My call I fear.

I thought that you’d want what I want.

Sorry, my dear.

But where are the drones?

Quick, send in the drones.

Don’t bother, they’re here

 

Isn’t it sick?

Isn’t it clear,

Losing my timing this late

In my career?

And where are the drones?

There ought to be drones.

Let’s get out of here.

The Bard of Armagh

Moderngasm organism, wheeze and

puff: chaosmos indeed. Reality

is something to be read out loud at night

to sleeping cuckoos and sparrowhawks.

A zephyr throws the yellow post-it to

the floor…’Sunder; shags; Jacquerie: Blumenfeld.’

Worramess by Wotan.

Phew-a-Brew Time

English: Phew, That's a Relief See 776022

Nine and a bit of fun boy three and weak sun;

cold fingers tingle

so…

perhaps downunder for a warm and a brew.

Up since five: must stay warm. Limp lions cut no

mustard & cress