Grimbeau

Scroodles

Category: Poetry

Mr & Mrs Sophocles

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‘Will that do?’

‘No, it’s wrong’

‘Wrong?’

‘Yes, wrong.’

‘Who says gross moral turpitude is wrong?’

‘People…just people.’

‘Well, I wouldn’t know anything about that, would I?’

‘Suppose not.’

‘Suppose right.’

Stakeholders Gather

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Arsenic & old lace
Did I say older?
I forget a lot these days
Onset Oldtimer’s
Mindless tedium
Your guess is as good as mine
Xylophones twinkle
Beautiful losers mutter
A man goes apeshit
Puts on a woolly thinking hat
Down to business
A murmur of life & debt
The meeting convenes…

Museum

lit jasmine joss stick

Debussy string quartet plays

adjust thermostat

open fan widows

wine dark dawn begets

clear blue canopy

wondering whether

to talk or not to talk to

fiends & creditors

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Screwballs

 

hand chat

We come of life

We want of death

We come of death

We want of life

~

We come of dark

We want of light

We come of light

We want of dark

~

We come of silence

We want of sound

We come of sound

We want of silence

~

We come of touch

We want of stone

We come of stone

We want of touch

~

We come of mind

We want of heart

We come from heart

We want of mind

~

We come of dumb

We want of deaf

We come of deaf

We want of dumb

~

We come of Ma

We want of Pa

We come of Pa

We want of Ma

~

We come of here

We want of there

We come of there

We want of here

~

Yellow Wallpaper Flower

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Over there observe

Fey wiry Mary Hartley

Confined to an upstairs bed

In a seaside bungalow

Waiting on a feted

Blue reunion

Summery justice

Life without dissipation

Sober as a smudge

Holly & Ivy

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Took some zippo

liquidated sound seven:

abstracted coffee

come eight.

Walked allover his

wild side

utilitarian fine tooth

soma left: no burn unsalted.

declined shattered sunflower

She said

Holly’s late

Gift

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Leaves flurry flyblown

Dry souls of summer sprites

Bare golden rowan

One bunch of orange berries

Opposing winter’s onslaught

Thirteen thrifty two

Donned a cheapo charcoal fleece

Four loud angry knocks

Gross yellow parcel

Perches on the crimson chair

Ominously still

Water, Water everywhere…

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Poor night: flatulence

(cauliflower cheese, chicken

tikka masala,

two reds, wounded foot),

it’s that time of year,

house of gloom & despond.

Back in the saddle

of flim flam,

whim wham,

zin zan.

Change mood from sad to glad.

Grab some remedial rest,

pen a few missive,

No Danny, no cry.

Dreams came fast and curious,

contrary moods & settings,

instantly forgotten

due broken foot.

Tread carefully, Doorstopper.

Wet no rain no wet.

Lights out still in Lancaster

and its myrmidons.

Shite Christmas is guaranteed.

Nothing new there then.

florence of dysphasia

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when the bedouins

bought my sequins

it crossed my mind

something was awry

thence i placed

a gingham

tablecloth

on my jihad

and danced

insanely

just like

peter o’tool

did for dosh

The Daily Grind

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I rose and chose a coffee

from the selection of available

water based liquids.

With this I had a cigarette,

which I made myself:

harvesting, drying, processing leaf,

pulping paper in a big blue pail,

extracting gas from the bio mass

and flattening it to the required

denir aboard my

miniature steam roller.

An exhaustive process

often interrupted by the need

to release toxic waste

from the tee-pee

~

On arrival upstairs in my lift

the day was revealed as misty

and the streets sweat wet.

I dropped my lighter on the floor and left it,

vowing to retrieve it later

with my extended manual claw

that hangs from the hospital bed.

A cursory take on the news

clarified the extent of yesterday’s huge explosion in China.

Jim Al Kalili showed me around Sellafield

nuclear reprocessing plant and availed me of a

brief history of nuclear energy.

He looks very like a frog

I was intimate with once

during Thermidore