Grimbeau

Scroodles

Category: Poetry

Poshlust

Susurrous rumblings
precursors of tumult
Saturday morning berserkers
‘A parcel for you, Suh!’
A Postie declares.
Kashchey the Deathless
Makes merry downstairs
Varnishing rococo baubles
Warm winsome dead soul

Little Omega

No milk

to cry over:

traffic and bollard,

pothole and hedgehog,

flood and folly. All delay delivery.

Try your best without.

Think Wartime,

make and mend,

a stitch in time,

careless talk

costs lives

Wryneck

look out! night just fell
you near on overlooked it
lost in an e-book–lucky
i showed up
the air was sharp
that keen time of year ducky
like it was when we met before
in this deserted trossach where
thought and feeling dance
their cockeyed sabbath

Caress

Adorned by
cyber
voices motley
upon the streaming air
exhaled by Ogma Sun face
plain as a brass pike staff in yer face
see the boss aint got no dainty threads on
bare arsed as a new born twerp shouting orders
to court assasins in boreal greek and latticed latin
burbling on in unknown tongues lip dancing codeine potions
compelling inebriate states to poach small town chickenshacks

Equinox

sensuous concrete
palaminos oversee
high rise meadows

(Isaiah).

Asceneofanewandastonishingnaturethenpresenteditselftomy

view. All the people and nations of the globe, every race of men

fromevery differentclimate, advancingonall sides,seemed toas-
semble in one inclosure, and form in distinct groups an immense
congress.Themotleyappearanceofthisinnumerablecrowd,occa-

sionedbytheirdiversityofdress,offeaturesandofcomplexion,ex-

hibitedamostextraordinaryandmostattractivespectacle.

Mauve tuesday is a rum day,
a bin day, a drab day
a humdrum day
laden down cumbersome
by protocol and melancholia
thus it must
commence with an immodest nosebleed
or a writhing mit of pitted prunes
elsewise
it simply is not worth its salt
nonetheless
wanderers returned from the huzun night
find it irresistible

Low Jinks and Crystal Sets

tuesday is a dumb day, a bin day, a drab day
a day laden down with protocol and melancholia
it must commence with a modest nosebleed
and a mit of shrivelled pitted prunes
or it is not worth its salt
solitary wanderers in the huzun night
find it irresistible

Warblings from some Distant Spring

Musk demilight– aqua, orchid, tourquoise,
bent over hoodwinked by a flighty moon
reach out to open optimistic windows
admit dunnock chirps & sample crisp ballooning air;
early worms watch dullard ghosts bow out
to head for air conditioned hulks;

silverfish hold out for frigid Juul tides,
white riders & twilit oceansides beg
time out for prearranged red handshakes
in vacant dayglo barns;
many is the slip twixt cup and lip
impatient to get on with it.
It! That meretricious pip.
May had its seventeenth today,
shrunk glorious summer down
to cheap sausage pork,
and in its putrid air a natal
rain exposed a summer still born,
A maid unaware craved its drains to roam,
its culverts to clog―
Saw red rain fell over the temple,
Developed an inability to spit,
And bore witness to a teal sky
Crowded out with bluebirds.
Omens abound like cliches come sweet dusk.

A shootist lazily rakes the gallery
A spotty little herbert called Anomie
Made to menace Venice
Jeopardised the tennis
Liberté, égalité, Débilité –

Close to tears on rising:
an invisible hornet bugs you
you open a velvet blind
What is it that chastises?
Is it a far off chainsaw?
Wash the scuff away
Regret another curfew day
Showered down thorough.
Spent time writing proper.
Fucked it up. Corrected. It worked!

All of this comes to you thanks to a power shower
I stood on one leg blindfold intoning
‘I don’t wanna know her’,
a little keyhole waltz if you will
recounting old times in the Ozarks
Cussing our imaginary friend Zillard.
The lies flow outrageously as spring flood water…
a hot scrub is the prelude to a crisp neo-write supremacy:
A thousand tweets a day and soon you’re washed away.
Like a one legged Willy Lomax, a legend in his own body waste,
wisecracking as he vaporises in a steamy void

Begin over with the goat stew she left out on the table
The cord flex dangling idly in the cavernous hall
The fabulous smell of oily tuna permeates the bamboo wall
Losing a grip of the catchy word makes you chippy
flitting like a teasing fly
The mocking phrase that slights the cliche
Line by line the words drip dry.
Sure now this is nowhere you’re free.

Freewheelin’

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