Grimbeau

Scroodles

Category: Poetry

Groupthinks

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We threw it all away some say (mirthless prissy lips make snide asides…Buddies burst in occasionally)

Sometimes they come from outer space
grumbling like oriental chainsaws smelling of mellow fellow peril:

 

silver trembles on emerald leaf splits the sky wide open rents flaked out in gauze tropospheres sedation sifting though space junk

plunder in the sparse first light rooftop silhouette
opposite a chocolate rhombus
—a pollarded alp sprouts crumbly chimney stumps
a decapitated toblerone
topped off by a
crown green nurdle crest

Rest up on a rigid khaki stook
bladderwrack moonbeams toy
wrack stacks wobble stop
precariously perched betop

Its burden cast away
crumbledown mountain
Perambleside peaks

***

Under which the above
little fat boy wants outies
Cader Idris sizzles
protesting the right foot forward
scree flurries lapping
to reek havoc & rage & rumpus
prospect of an avalanche blomange
confined to poxy screenplay drosswork
deemed unfit for family fun
cross legged zapping seagulls with a crossbow
winging be hard blackbirds
Drives off broke folks hopping mad

grinding anthracite briquettes
coal shed solitary refinement converting then to coke hatching
audacious escape plans prompts a sudden urge to defecate
running out of temperance due silence compromised by windsock

Paradiddle drip on porchway overflowing gutters flow
an ardent dew fell overnight: Harley Hill rests in peace
The square left fallow to Emerge

*

The Cocked Up Party

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Cedric found the Marquess of Coole spreadeagled on the Ottoman with the ‘Half Life
Of Snails’ in her bloodless grip & posted the footage on Snuffchat so Henry knew
Edward G was still at large capable of unspeakable atrocity. After all the drawing room
was full up with blistered aubergines, midget broccoli festooned the architraves, and
a hairless Headcase whimpered soulfully wrapped only in a samphire ballgown.
At heart Henry had twigged the man was just a pushy upstart from Central casting;
the one they always let through, the dead loss leader, the hollow idol to kill off with
strychnine on a wet afternoon but the uranium ran out at the wrong time

Think of the afterthrill of eating chocolate in the dark and feeling a little moist afterwards.
It was all pff course and a huge charade. The long positions would still hold firm on cupidity and smarm, he thought of Peregrine out at sea huntin marlin for that snitch Veronica. Nailed up and bleeding effluent from every orifice he was lost, hooked, lined and blinkered by her gums. Henry understood too well how lesser narwhals would fold under such pressure and morph into slum beauticians sweeping up in delapidated nail bars. But this was not Cedric’s script. He always sought delineation. For him things were simply matters to order and control. With that in mind Henry set off for the bakery.

Cool shrooms and anchovy bisque, homespun alphabetti spaghetti:sounds illegible; fungal magic soused in honey.Cheryl really had pushed the boat out this time. Always too keen to please. After all
she was born nutritionist: worst acne I ever saw. She wore a homespun hood with slits to breathe and see. Takes all sorts suppose. They call her Elephant Woman. But never to her face you understand.
Well I mean how can you? Inappropriate

Some farewell letter you’d agree. Henry was agog. Edward G had legged it for good. All hell breaks loose in the utility room. The kittens go bananas at the sight of giant mouse. Henry takes a powder. A smell of camphor burning. Whose stockinged feet are poking out this time? Colonel fucking Sanders?
Smell him all over.

The Milkman Cometh

GLASS CEILING

 

 

check to see what that note
is in that cyan bottle
really do I need that wash
that banking thing perplexes me
that extinction rebellion take lambeth bridge
police stage that media retreat
world in that commmotion
workers of the world that relax
the milkman that made it through

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Property is Deft

Why the Fiddler Fixed the Roof

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The Avocado

Babs the Woodpigeon gave issue in the silver birch by the back window as we questioned solipsism over sticky buns . Les Bleu Dragoons, Pipe & Fyffe dervishers, Slasher & Tom-Tom Tittle-Tattle, entertain us as the pallid seraph of Dumfries drops in  and from time to time utters out of the blue– but it is February after all, winter’s dogend spells an ill wind crisp blows in as horny handed thugs on drugs, sporting primrose neckties, shiny yellow wellies, hard-nut-to-crack walnut titfers, suspended on high rise hopes, twitching in direct sunlight through X-Ray Specs collude.

See the world through blue crystal galoshes  breaking in wind spirits to get up & gallop thru upstairs vacant chambers, confidential papers scatter, still a radio that plays non-stop, filling up swallow moods, trying to keep cool & tarry on, raving on like Long John Donne, aloof in trailblazer and spats, ready crispy salty dogman, star of screech…

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The Mystery Chef (uncensored)

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Cool shrooms and anchovy bisque,
homespun alphabetti spaghetti:
Sounds illegible
Cheryl really had pushed
the boat out this time
Always too keen to impress
She was a nutritionist from birth:
worst acne I ever saw
She wore a hood with slits
To see and breathe
Takes all sorts suppose
We call her Elephant Woman
But never to her face
Well I mean how can you?

Little Old Apes

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Any old iron from Madchester
presents private versus public school
a sniffy cult to keep tabs on so tell me do

Was time well spent preparing
before chapel of rest muzak
on a sunday afternoon

Stuck in a full blown fall down shack
spectating collective bouts of capricious
audacity dissolving like opioids in a deep sea squall?

That’s one hell of a question
to ask of one in the prone position…

when confronted by such a chorus of indifference

Why not just admit to it?
okay yes i got a good whack for being brash with hapless slaves when they got pollarded by lunatics who got their kicks for waving pooh sticks at with real pooh and got bashed up till the cows came home for milking and it was about then a replacement substitute was found abroad squatting on the shoulders of aphids; how seldom do us little apes
learn to carry on by candlelight at all?

The Indian Summer of the Tory Party

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Cedric found the Marquess of Coole spreadeagled on the Ottoman with the ‘Half Life
Of Snails’ in her bloodless grip & texted Henry so
Henry knew Edward G was heinous culpable and twigged at once he had to go.
After all the yoke was full with blistered aubergines, midget broccoli festooned the architraves, and a hairless Headcase looked perturbed wrapped only in a samphire throw.
At heart the man was a pushy upstart from Central casting; the one they always let through, the dead loss leader, the hollow idol to kill off with strychnine on a wet afternoon
Think of the afterthrill of eating chocolate in the dark and feeling a little moist.
But it was all a charade. The long positions still held firm on cupidity and smarm
Peregrine was out a sea huntin marlin for Veronica. Nailed up and bleeding effluent from
every orifice he was hooked, lined and blinkered
Lesser narwhals would fold under such pressure and morph into glum beauticians sweeping up
in seedy nail bars.
This was not Cedric’s script. He sought delineation.
Things were simply matters to
order and control.
He set off for the bakery.

Telegraph

monday

 

Aisling muse done gone walkies
down the labyrinths of Tyre fair
repairs and ultimata haughty
hang loose on the punic air

mean auld half life swell of atoms
resembles cuddly kittens tussling
kinda neat coincidence
such simple little things
make life all worth it:
city slickers at an exhibition
exhibit very poor behaviours

Prussian blue sorted  Caesar
who now seethes inside in exile
sipping stale mint juleps
rehearsing trust me smiles

Waft

 

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someone sent you

don’t know why

to lick the wind

and smooth the sky

to ludic blunder

watercress

to alight upon

a summer dress

 

 

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