Join me as I slink to twig the silver
dust away from the campfire’s embers.
See the fire glow: teaspoon it to flame,
Carefully perch the tall, crimson pot atop,
askew atop that is, and dig the day’s
latrine with that small yellow plastic spade.
We are on the outskirts of the craic of dawn.
Scantily clad tidings of cheap skates and
Square war-jaws, cousins to sleep’s hazel
snacks and myxamatosis of your mind’s eye.
dawn breaks on the bough
replacing weary night;
werewolf and dogman
return to their lairs;
and, we ride out
to snatch Tyburn’s necklace,
and plant it deep in
undiscovered clays
Mutual micturition
& Adrian Mitchell on the wireless
Let’s let bygones be bygones
Bury the haggis
After all is said and done
It’s just water under the fridge
Were you just taking the piss
When you asked me why
the box of frogs I promised
was not for keeps just swops?
Mutually unsure destruction
Is not what it’s cracked up to be
A giant slug,
six inches long,
Herefordshire resident;
Lettuce pray!
Yesterday
Afternoon
4.43pm GMT
I became old,
Unofficially
Olympickled brand land lies oozing
gold from every orifice except mine.
Yours too?
Grab bronze & silver, and what you can.
My arse and sides contort in Hysteria.
Yours too?
My old man’s a dustbin,
He wears a dustbin lid:
His sister’s name is Binbag,
And his brother’s name is Sid.
Midday!
Phew, that was close run race.
Nearly did something worthwhile
Till I came to my senses.
Let me tell you straight
The terror was tangible, tangerine, terrible.
Now it is over I can
return to Furplefarple Land
rest easy better in my bed
than this red sweater does
but cobalt and magenta
are in the wash
and so is
a frozen chicken
Vibrant dawn dazzles
Pitch bone slate lamp nightdreamers
Eyeblink shadows flit
Earlybirds dart brisk alert
Incanted day arrives
Perfect golden light
Rakes tree leaf and bark
Hope springs all prisoners
Every time you go
‘Whoops!’
(which is increasingly
more frequent of late)
Johosophat gets very jumpy
It is a good thing that
I will never tell you that
You might do it to disturb
Him just for the sport
I know what you’re like sometimes
The devil makes work
For bone idle hands
bloody sociopaths,
boorish prats, the absent-minded,
& those who observe the worrying demise of rubber tree plants…
Bring me moonshine
In your smile
&
gusto
In my hearth
O hearths!
~
The paraphernalia of open fires—
Scuttles, grates, tongs, clinkers,
ash shovel, hatchet
Rickety kneebends
Scrunching up the Sun
The News of the Screws
~
Picking good cinders
Hatcheting sticks
Three matches to light
Always three matches
Crackle & slow collapse
~
Juvenile flames keen to jive
The timing of the bigger sticks
Critical mass
The placement of the first coals
Put the heavy front on
~
Clunk
Shut the little door
& hope real hard
Offer up a silent
prayer to the firegods
Every little helps
Last refuge of a scoundrel
See it caught at last
Grimbeau 