Shake, Rattle & Roll
Milk & (so much) More mail me:
‘Grimmy, beat the heat with a summery shake!’
Little do they know; out of the mouths of babes and
Sucklings.
Chucklings all round, paroxysms
Epileptic fits
Now,
That’s a bone-fide
Summary shake.
Grimbeau
Scroodles
Category: Poetry
August 3, 2013
Short Day’s Night into Dawn
Moodpaint:
wild night, wet, sheltered behind big bare tree,
sort of dawn through the petrified tree stems.
Tremble to sleep.
Waking warmer.
New place warm grey speckled yellow, yes, puce.
An apology of sunbeams.
Thirsty or what!
…rushing brook squabbling to the left: yes, down there.
Crazy notion of a little, silver trout.
No rod. Fashion one then. Can’t be arsed.
Have a splash and scoop and carry on.
August 2, 2013
Bloater
Smoke pause and coffee slug
Curtain sloped out window
Sucked out, outsuck drag.
Shit! Banged red exposed elbow.
Smokestained drapes: salmon peach,
Tucked comfortably in twixt
bizzy-lizzy and big green shiny pot
imagine it plonked on silver beach
the shadows lengthen, sunbathers are vexed
some move, some curl up cold, and some do not.
Little happens slow
Somebody knows.
August 2, 2013
Schnitzel Cricket
Schnitzel! Bang, bang, thump, bang thump:
It resumes, slower, tireder, more circumspect
This time, sculpting, levelling, shaping.
Egg and breadcrumb, and season.
Then phlasshhh in the pan, some fries,
Wedge of lemon,
And flies, french.
Short-pitched attack succeeds
Clarke plays on from Broad’s
Bumper.
Bye-bye till next innings
Tatafornow
TTFN
187
Australians
Possibly collapsing
August 2, 2013
Ghoulies
Flight of fancy!
Sid and Nancy
Necromancy
August 2, 2013
Mud and the Miscreant
Crave still and clear vision,
you never know it could, you know.
Bad lad down,
clear out of town.
Do not darken our door
bad news boy.
Come back when we’re gone out.
Sit down hard and think about it,
what you did,
You. Serves you right, eh?
Got your just deserts.
Look at you standing
lost in long grass
with toffee in your hair,
bramble scrammed calves
and shins.
Hide from the passing voices.
You’re on the run on your own.
Outsider till the smell of onions
frying, then, caught on the horns of…
Conflicted. In two minds caught on
Hungry man: angry man.
Be nice, take your medicine, be brave,
get fed, then go back to the Land of Nod you little sod.
August 1, 2013
Cleopatra’s Noodle
![[Kidwelly Castle, Carmarthen, Wales] (LOC)](https://i0.wp.com/farm3.static.flickr.com/2584/3751646063_55b3de42a2.jpg "[Kidwelly Castle, Carmarthen, Wales] (LOC)")
Seven-thirty, my life:
cider and ashtray gob, pee (an ocean).
Put the kettle on; spill, make and drink a
glass of mud. Bowel creaks and groans,
there is a hog on the roof…
now above and emptied, dig out the day
to come from the old bog road.
Could have been a toad in another life.
Maybe a camel.
Bactrian of course. Yes, that’s it!
Plonked beside the sphinx waiting for a ride.
Better than Buddy on old Barry beach,
freezing in his duffel coat.
Fires behind windcheaters,
they eat ready-made drumsticks;
glower and growl when approached with a view to a sell.
Neddy gets a toffee apple and pukes on a sandcastle ruin.
Conway not, Kidwelly more likely.
Outside toilets on the fourth floor
always a hazard to the uninitiated
July 31, 2013
Celeste
The galley is a mess: the Cook’s portholes,
open, abandoned, admit the squalid
Seaspray.
‘Keel haul that Boson, Master Bates, cocking a snook again!’
Karmic three times before the gloaming
Sixbell.
Cross word addiction seeks crucifiction.
Cryptic agnostic pursues persecution.
Here comes the window cleaner in a towel.
So, splice the main brace, Mr Hands, the wind howls
the sea is incandescent maroon green,
a kraken’s wake can be seen astern.
Just there beside the gherkins.
Looks like a job for the Kropotkins.
July 31, 2013
Prognosis Oasis
Well, that told it how it was, put plainly.
Food and codeine taken; heavy, post-op
medicated eyes loll there in your head.
Soon the sun and you break through and shine,
Or so the forecast has it. Never give up
on a good forecast, as, one day, it might
give up on you. None of us want that, do us?,
July 31, 2013
Still Life Wall
…that grease-monkey over there,
clad in a voluminous grey migraine of a kaftan,
smells incoming rain, she
watches the rosewood barometer plummet
from minds-eye.
Two cups: dark, bog green and light duck egg blue –
call it grey if you will. Look upon the too pink wall!
A violet pyggy bank, dark pastel blue lagoon.
Dylan: fat sporting unselfconscious Woodbine,
older and hooked now, Larne shed dweller;
‘..in the town of New Haven’… Morrison mugshot postcard;
Milligan Sieg-Heiling traffic Hitler.
Curling at the edges coloured
photocopy of dog-eared Ulysses.
Wailing was the morning
wall of lost projections.
Grimbeau 