Grimbeau

Scroodles

Category: Poetry

Grown Up Stressed Bards

Frantic endeavour

Copious buddy of work

Escalates apace

Paper smokes trail pens

Million words a minute

Copulation explosions

Consenting adults freeform

Open ended sentences

Burning Time

Amber russet orange red

Rowan burning bronzed pure gold

Hope glows eternal

Ancient political networks

Fuel everlasting bonfires

rebellious groundswells

Bluster mocks lustre

Earth burns hard ore core

~

Burnished furnaces blossom

Forth molten volcanic biles

Carbonised cadavers caught

Out inside grim treasuries

Consumed in seething lava

Heading hillward in mansion

Taxis are soon consumed

In overwhelming flames

 

 

 

Communitatas Times

Antebellum

cerebellum

war winds blow

storm clouds gather

bidding no one no good for

crafty watchers

sporting adaptable sussed

liminal subjects

venal sentinels.

Atomis

Adpool

Contrary opinion

urges surgeons disembark

the good ship selfie

& comprehend I & I

made of space uncuttable

Mirror, Mirror…Where’s the Wall?

Yes, you spotted it.

Saturday morning once again.

Bumptious wireless nattering.

Time is a smartphone lost in the wash.

Turn back the clock an era.

Pete Conrad is goofing on the moon.

Retreat into dreams.

Vacate white screaming rooms.

Hide keys to secrets

in fast forgotten crannies.

Robbing the rich is a crime.

Robbing the poor’s Capital.

Get that coffee down you, pal.

You need it more than you know.

Mod Cons

Elliptic cryptic triptych

Larder of Turkish Delights

Erroneous Bosch

Chemical cosh created

For dosh crazed Eternity

Polemical cant

Canonical rant

Never behave as your told

Act your shoe size not your age

Sweet Dreams Baby

Dolores del Rio

Slept naked and light

Under a mosquito net

When the howls started

Red ants enveloped her

Wading defiant ravenous

Steadfast as Durutti columns

About her omphalos

Lapping crass molasses

Slow high thin black cloud

Bisected the fulsome moon

As a cut throat razor rent

Her mindseye’s worst nightmare

Of being eaten alive

Dry as Water

When our hero Joe Gobi

Got wind of what happened

He hit the tin roof

‘A travesty…that’s what it is’

Silence loud as no cicadas

Echoed round the caravanette

We had no stomach for the sea

Night was falling anyway

It was back to the pueblo

For anchovies al fresco

Land without Bread

Tea tree pungency

Midday twenty three.

Kilbride’s secret went

to the grave with him

everso tiny

peanut butter sandwiches

stitched into his stomach lining

there were no flies on Kilbride

just wasps and hornets

Pretty common for late August

In Andalucía

Lily the Punk

Observations of a soggy flower

do not set the world ablaze.

There’s enough grief to

go round these days

I suppose

common old perennials

grow back when people don’t.

So sorry Lily,

you’ve had your fifteen minutes