Grimbeau

Scroodles

Category: Poetry

Madagaskar

turner_yellow

 

Paused to watch in awe
as porksausage is slowly herded into
a red hot oven.
Ponderous rise to thirteen hundred handclaps;
read back through unfinished work–capable, superficial, slapdash
mild mannered…
up yours to writing courses.
Sausage time after chess defeat debacle.
Still life goes on in a glass bunion reading mad sestinas
loose limbed shambling to a close

Mist not clearing, rigid grey stays
As weary corseteers drink creamy
Chicken cuppa soups
& tongue inscrutable croutons

Corrugated tin roof soundbite din

Wet cats weeping sombre buckets
Waiting for morsels
Or dead fledglings
Lost drowned commencing maiden flight.

A quick gasper, juicy  goss and prattle
then back to graffiti whalebones
Curse those deft big hollow needles
The sky went orange: locusts

Jetflop & Samson

Amyl

 

Sunday morning scrub
Wind blows like a stammer,
winkles drapes,
dissipates
replaced by pastel
blue and pink graffiti
over thinned out chestnut woods

Fertile Ground

2688 (1)
Nine days into the new year spring struck the dozy Cut at ten fifty nine on the strawberry nosegay, essential oil spillage romping in abject hayloft recalled Petula and dripping rain down on this jawful of toxic fodder, still beggars can’t be choosers, so they say, but more of that anon
O! mute contorted spring  that of witch from yuledream breaks still antiseptic and vindictive in its luscous bite and repressive in its grandiose vision, all this seen in contrasted tarns of Aryan types of northern european extraction, one applies such strictures others sadder succour, and petit moi in sweet rancid pod spouting freedom crap to passers out. No this one wants it over and done with so much that she can get some quality sleep and spend precious time with her pissed neglected family and maybe by a stroke of luck meet some friends or just play walk the fucking dog as it seems these days everywhere you go there is some needy bitch on heat driving hound dogs mad, bad, and tedious to know
Now there was a blast from the decent past as if i remembered a rhythm of how to spout without stopping and looking up to see the product of my disinterred fingers weep; o for the generous rear of the cheesecake and smell of the loud rampaging nobheads stomping thunderously over the resonant needled flaw of presence and then sudden like almost stopping to consider too stark vivid options, the wild orchids and leafmould hoof persist only now as mummery, got a new one as there’s no two ways about it, what’s more besides bet it snows before next week is through, but fuck it let’s go then you and I and get those beers in Grimbeau mentioned ages back
Do I chance dare in this repair to risk the stair in darkness, or even in the flickering light in this state of twilight, distress and thirst? Onwards and downwards a wag suggests! What are you. a tomfool or an eejit tripper? Of course one will find at the heel of the hunt we all piss blood on a Friday night round here…

Wanted Man

1781

 

Toe wrapped up anew
boney walkman ascending
stares up to see
a pelican swallowing
suburbia in one gulp
curlew chicks slide down
ballooning gizzards
of sodden gazebos
~

Killed off a lot of half hours
waiting for answers
to pressing questions
moved off
eventually
eschewing time zones
transported by taunts
loose canons and silly wizards

Oliphants & Berserkers

O'Morse where art thou

 

 

ain’t got no time for messing; original thought sought; panic brought forth nowt; busy morning to chew over;
a bitter campaign; internecine warfare in the shires; who drew that line in the land?

the wind gets up apace whipping up a storm a white island volcano coughs its disapproval causing five
to perish on a far off event horizon

black holes are practicising cannibals that will eat eachother in the end engendering a pompous rumpus in
the parly houses that remain

it was then it dawned on me it was midwinter and i ought to make sacrifice to fuck all and ensure the bucklers
are fit for purpose

it was noted as odd when the supply train arrived before the vanguard and the smell of sizzling bacon
entranced our half starved elephants and berserkers

Flavella found paltry the consolation of knowing that persistence was its own reward as she gathered lilacs
in the spring scattered on the ringpull strand

A Bit of a Handful

umber_overview

 

Foot zing diminishes after redress; today was stillborn arduous;
earthquakes tremble listlessness, unlured by tallow poesy,
very nice though it seems, a can of worms called cryogenic
masochism. the rood that unglued. nothing hinged springs easy.
Where is it to go?
Forlorn in no faced media; a crowd of ones and zeros swaps;
O not to live like that if I make it through this eternal night;
topdogs of a thousand faces; lit from underneath by lime
twixt screens disposed to wander looking for a break
a let up in the bombardment reveals
a paucity of rubble heaped beside a cranky trebuchet
lightly dusted with talc
redolent of instant mash

Air Weaves

day-1

 

…radio morning:
Barg,.. CPS Snow…the Warp

and The Anarchy by Dalrymple
wherein Clive Of India
does himself in

with a rusty penknife on a luxuriant jakes…

& Eliot’s missus opts for happy pills
taken aback by Dostoevsky  elation
epilepsy, gaming

and sheer fucking Joi de Vivre

Why is this comic?
I dunno
You’re the expert
End of sonic

Head below

Heironymush Tosh springs to mind
Fat blackbird on bare mountain ash
tobacco yellow beak
beech leaf clings to dog fur
nightlights glow through mist…
Dilith strikes traditional note
grabs old hacks by the scrote and throat
invoking hostesses of rebecca
starlets and harlots rid the streets of slime
oozing under chapel doors
like strawberry juice and penury

Solent Night

EJzy9-QWwAAJPiH

 

got a november sunday
got a wind early when courtesy called to say

Old Cleobury snuffed itt
a month before his judgement day
when the oriental sun
sets swiftly in the west
and misere mes deus
rings out in vestibules and bleak boutiques
across a frenzied flame grilled chard
got a sad november sunday

Young Cleobury snuffed it yesters after vespers–best go light a twilight candle…Seems seven tried and fooled about too much for an epoch give or take an epic spurt & lurking back now slunked off in search of fresh fields trotting
taking picket nimbly skipping ugly tackles bypassing bucks playing futures by wild carding every given hand
sub contracting bridges to dubious firms of hoods
each sizing me up for the drop come elevenses stop hard rest into teeming psychospace occupied by humless stingers, causticbarbs.
proceed vaincautious over casting
suspect glances confirm contact was declined

spiralling down muchlike dizzy alice snatching selfies tuxedoed beside smiley vultures often congregate below
but soon part at the pace of plummet bumping on houmous spheres
before forgotten fear of falling said no pulling out this jaunt ain’t no easy ride consider boiling hot flesh melting under withered skin
losing conchshellnesss on glossy triptych
picturebook thumbsucker
rockaby snug terror
safe inder silkinesses
creamy green envelopment

slow to warm of late; outswung end of rope pressing offal swing bridge freeze framed close up nosehair gawp
accompanies point blank stare from vacant spaces

counted marbles three to one and looked elsewhere

just before afterwards…

1782105_778429402185641_418958319_n-620x

 

 

…nobody seen talking when one arrived and one left on a mission to Coventry  (a unique silence fell)
felt nothing no matter how hard could not relate felt very awkward (a true quality of
light)
concave faces impress with natural reluctance to crack smiles while sedentary ( a screw came loose)
on return the ashtrays and coffee cups were absent without leave incidentally (a hound bayed blue)
stranglers and burglars concluded the account of recent deft grand larcenies ( a smell of tranquil ear)

Burning Bash

expo1

 

—Burnt out, or so you say. All burned out. Dried up, but like what—wadi or toast, wreck, ruin, candlestick or freak storm? Where there’s life…where there’s life. That’s what they always say
—Toast it is then: crusty brown wholemeal toast burnt black, iffy thermostat…
—Not bad, not bad at all
—No heart & soul mind you
—Husky, though, even a little dusky (ha-ha)
—Coffee brown roasted funnel dregs
—Still damp!
—Left out when the sun was at it’s…
—Zenith?
—Strongest
—Wow…that is real burnt!

The plague years, they said, burn themselves out.
A peculiar variety of auto da fe
It would seem to have been
Divinely ordained.

Fire starter & hosepipe surge; belle, bookie, & candelabra!
Have they moving the furniture around again?
Yes. They never stop it these days.
so much so sunshine & showers
seldom clash these days.
So well do they behave themselves.
And clouds no longer burst.
Not since many a long year.
Dry as salvages we are:
Mesos, stackpoles, arid drumlins…
Only lithographs remain,
ink shadow plays, traced on distressed concrete,
splashes wink on toppled sarsens, drizzle laps on banished dolmen…
sure it’s better than nothing, anything’s better than splat:
‘That’s what they always say’
—a coalition of crackpots, by gum!
Well Would you Adam & Eve it?
Iron Sadie morphs up
before your very bleary eyes
It defies all common sense, she said.
It ought not be allowed, she bled.
Curtains shut below but not above,
marked down the mental sentinel
Must have Gone to Hull in a handcart
On the run in Kingdom come
Caught red handed bonkers in
Fingers in the till
Golden City of tiny lies,
Pottersville emits more heat than light
ominous stench of ordure
So who was it scared the horses?
All enemies are liars
I am an enemy
Cogito ergo summer suit
Pass me a government
I think there’s one in my rainbow
Shunshine & showers wee small hours
Aha! Red biddy bam a lamb
It’s a blunderful midwife
This should never have happened
To us Old Newtonians
As June defines an end to May—

Think this this → Here
So read the legendary
stAte called (t) Ired
in-Comprehending
optionless, prone, akimbo,
gersplatted after
The Fall
The fall
takes it clean out of a body
in unholy smoke!
(that in which it all goes up)

watch it go up quick then
pfffhhhszz!
Vertical matchbox soaked in sun
The floor was too hot to walk
Back in nineteen eighty one
No-go area then: nowhere area when?

Some say emergency were slow
Slower than a fireball is fast
Grenfell tower, Latimer road
Notting hill, West London showed
Up, up, up, for what it’s worth
A charnel house in a sea of dearth

%d bloggers like this: