Many Happy Returns
Adeline
slipped away
alone
with herself
together
she walked
into
the river
Forever
Grimbeau
Scroodles
Category: Poetry
March 27, 2014
Been Fishin’
Company and drink
enter the room
warm menace, sardonic, knowing, sage
Scarlatti.
When this episode, this little jolly, is over, is it
another Tempest.
An
attractive, familiar, alternative,
sickening, horrific, act of self-harm,
abuse, and neglect?
Why this lack of worth, of purpose, of me?
But,
if this is me how can the alternative
attractive familiar be denied?
Take a good look at the situation.
How does one change it, confront, combat it?
Have a nice day!
Sinball!
Without a hangover as well.
Forget the bottle,
you got the bottle.
Repression.
Gonna play this game of life to win:
shower at eight, sort papers, get creamed up
and dressed
and go,go,go…
March 25, 2014
Brunch Lake
Not clearing, grey stays
The corseteers drink cream
Chicken cup soups
With gullible croutons
Corrugated tin roof din
Wet cats weep
Waiting for morsels
Or dead fledglings
Drowned maiden flight.
A quick gasper, some goss
Back to whalebones
And big hollow needles
For fat cameleopards
March 25, 2014
Satire is Dead
A feeling of tundra floods the changing room,
showers preoccupied by dirty, bloody,
foot resters.
How one bleeds, unaware of the stream and
puddle under the desk the surge of red
pumping rivulets,
veinfluid villa floor mosaic slopes
delta grouted runnel and gutter.
Nero’s noblest toerag spills his last.
Vomitarium graffiti states clear:
Petronius expired here
March 25, 2014
Spookies
Cannot get away
from this feeling
that I am
under constant,
insidious
surveillance.
After all,
They never stop going on about it:
The Mediums
It is difficult
not to take it
personally.
Spookies .
‘Perhaps someone is surveilling this?
comes a Little
Voice
Don’t be silly!
Whobody
in their right mind
would do that?
March 24, 2014
Something in my Eye
Jump up!
Out yer seat?
Just joking,
looky-looky yonder…
adenoidal brother
flouts the flute.
Bloody Ingrate.
Too snotty, he say:
‘Big blows.’
A
Nosey Christian prys, sighs:
‘Clueless and Bubo black, like dead sharks are.’
Mood impetigo,
slap rose petal ointment on,
take the town drain to Vermington.
Dalai Llama, come back all is been given!
Katy Lied.
March 23, 2014
Lay Lines
A long path alone,
untrodden,
as,
you presume,
like so many others.
Likelyhoods are certainties, you conclude.
Breathe the same air or what!
Steady Tyger!
Who rattled your cage, Pal?
People,
just people.
People like you with
splendid agendas,
like mine,
hidden treasure,
an encrypted chart,
a musty cave,
six big,
red daisies,
bad music,
comfy
wrecking ball.
Twenty-Four
Seven
Heaven
March 23, 2014
Act of Warship
Sunday.
All day.
Lamb chops,
mash or baked.
Oven.
What else?
A Leek.
Fags, need fags.
How?
Conscripts & regulars.
Shit…
Entropy
March 23, 2014
My Pale Wall
Light,
heat
and light:
utopia.
night falls
real
slow
Oil and
Water hour,
tangerine salmon
swim pink wall
pool now
showing
jejune
turquoise
tome coat
starring
three dead
famous
heads
jolly
blue Jakes.
Yucca
deadly
jungley
floods
sliding:
All the air
Full of hair
Strawberry…
March 22, 2014
Anabasis
Four no rule,
no measure years,
just got back mid-morning:
soft landing,
natives just the same, not me;
too much time to think, you see,
so everything is good or bad up there.
Back with a head full of seaweed, razor
whale gore,
syphilis and carnage. Whodunit?
Ask the guy in the looking glass. He say:
Author of your own destruction
with a little help from your
acknowledgements.
Left is right.
Right is left.
No turning back
You know too much
Grimbeau 