Grimbeau
Scroodles
Category: Poetry
March 17, 2013
Splosh!
So, mind is unravelled, wild vermacello reasoning, synapses fizz, associations of associations. Angsty: funny to the left of, not quite centre, achy uncomfyvibe. Jolt of jilted jollyfellow. Banjo, ukelele, zither, mandolin slicers: Whoa- hihosilva. Away. Halt.
Restless & feckless; turnoverturn; hide yerears and snuggling sure, ssh, sure…
Recklessly & festlessly fetchingly and carryingly penly, paper, cup, and ashtray from chair to bed and back again, never sorted satisfactorily speaking. Saturdynite; Worzbirtheven; head sort ails; factor fix ion; lean back, more meat Ona! Quark and Lard, larkquard. Gilly-Mot: Milly-Got: Golly-Mit: Molly-Git Milly gotta gwilmon. Toot Aussea, toot? Molly git migly log gimly glimmily.
Can’t see the cross in the mindsigh!
Flora & fauna!
Spring, springful Spring!
Colours, poor favour; sunbusting, teeming, running, jumping, coursing spring. Lively up yourselves. Don’t be nod rag. Salalsocalls for soundsand noises: bell, ringtone, beep-beep, pause, beep- beep…gedditto. Puce and greymauve plinthlight cabled. Left lug picks up microwavesounds. Raviolin. Ra-rah-rah-ra…penumbral whatsitsname: hyperbolaparabolatombolaspinbola…the thing lampshades do. Raviolout. Tinkle-tap-softchomp. Bolasalad with; goods tart, goodstart. Goosed Heart, goose dart!
Pipes! They are those are the things that drains are made on: Pipes. Pipistrel just before dawn: blip eesgone:
‘Phew! Hunny I’m home: closecall with big orange thing. Coulda shrunk one up.’
‘Peep!’
‘Ist’
‘rell’
‘Pip’
‘is’
‘trell’
‘Pee’
‘Pisstrail’
Time to get feet up and head down hanging on upwardly: falling sideways dreams. Eastwestnorthsouthwestnortheastwards. Subtle snores. Peepistrell: Phipplepip.
Lurch Stop Halt. Wassup?
March 16, 2013
Whistles
Thigh deep wading in the river,
Fading lilies in her hair she whistles
Cool air as the black night rests
A retinue in St. Cuthbert’s belfry
Fading lilies in her hair she whistles
This is not the dawn of last year:
A retinue in St. Cuthbert’s belfry
Knows it is another night of wonder
This is not the dawn of last year,
For there, beyond the railway sleeper
The retinue in St. Cuthbert’s belfry
Know Love is rising
Here, beyond the railway sleeper
Thigh deep wading in the river,
Fresh Love is rising from
Cool air as the black night rests.
March 14, 2013
Plush Sea
Faraway from oneself is asylum
Warm peninsula across the soft bay
Muscular air inhales orange blossom
Bare feet sorb enriching clay
Warm peninsula across the soft bay
Capricious zephyrs kiss mad bumptious hair
Bare feet sorb blood enriching clay
Chasing the light in yielding swift spangles
Capricious zephyrs kiss mad bumptious hair
Coursing the molten corrack nursing shore
Chasing the light in yielding swift spangles
Making mockery of eternity
Coursing the molten corrack nursing shore
Faraway from ourselves is asylum
Making mockery of eternity
Muscular air inhales orange blossom
March 14, 2013
Mad Ithaca
Chronicles of an endgame sour the day,
the last cormorant glides home half-asleep.
mauve tapering headland not faraway
Is darker; the treachery still indiscrete.
I trail past the quiet, dark caravan,
chest pounding with sorrow; tried to walk it
off but it don’t go – a woe-begotten
rotten vixen’s smashed my fragile heart.
On the rise, I make up the chintzy night scene
of Port Ithaca’s tourist hostelries.
Thronging poached Grockles being obscene
Python Lee Jacksons in a broken dream
March 14, 2013
efcaristo…paracalor
Waist deep naked and absurdly squatting:
‘Calamares! Cease this punishment!’
Onlooking palm shanty bivouacs sing:
‘You corrupter of paradise! Repent
this vile ouzo hubris and perish cold
and alone on this too early morning:
Watch your little life pass by, your transient soul
Is floating about you, a dark sponge gloating
at your flaccid white chipfat corpuscles.’
Soon the morning beautiful will bring
their bronzed, ideal, muscular nonsense,
scoff tapas and laugh stage-loud at the thing
stood shivering in freezing blue Ionian bliss:
hungry harpies, waiting for you to steal a piss!
Related articles
- Ouzo Destructo!! (thebearggrr.wordpress.com)
March 14, 2013
Moby Dock
We are whaling, we are whaling, call me
Ishmael, the lucky bugger who found a tree
trunk drifting in lukewarm Horse Latitudes
and fashioned a canoe: sound, swift, bit crude;
but still, given the hairy circumstances,
he avoided the Fish’s necromancies.
Sat here on blustery Selsey Bill, chill
blasts of wintry Solent swoop the feral
groynes, sloppy creosoted and duned
with mounds of heave-hoed pebbles; propelled
from an ocean of discarded dying hulks,
Trainee corpses for the breakers yard: shelled.
This leviathan could not give tuppence worth
with his Moon and Sixpence and an old hair shirt.
March 14, 2013
Anyone for Menace?
Hallucinogenics at Fatcat
Fritzo’s holiday manor and forthwith
one’s mind sets to lobster pots and poitin.
Down the dark, wet, morbid coastal granite
to an uncertain end in boiling water:
Sure, after a big search a boot found
sockless in the now calm cove, a daughter’s
ripped and ravaged t-shirt, hooked and
no-one in it: simple sea manslaughter.
The paramour, a brazen whacko balmpot
surpriselessly left without a trace for
abroad and other exotic foreign spots.
A hippy chick, called Carla, from Ecuador,
knew for sure that he had disappeared
To Planet Tharg: how verily weird.
March 13, 2013
St. Cuthbert’s Blue Suede Shoes
The day spreads out gray and joyless, do I care about being attended to, killing off the morning in small talk. Hunger as we roll on ten.
Bennett writes in his diary about just doing the writing, even he in his exalted status comes back to this point. Beneath the comfy slipper and old cardigan exterior is a steely heart: this one is leaden.
Pollop passes with the morning; must eat. Hanging out with Billie & Charlie; set up a BT online wotsit. Friday: tefal time, glad of a bit of feedback nonetheless, contact if nothing else on the inward trip – there ain’t nowhere else to go; try to remember how mobile one is. If you don’t use IT, you lose it. Poems, immersion in words and sounds as long as you can.
Trying to catch beach epiphanies, fishing in my back pages, sinking down, pearlfishing in the silt where the sole sleeps: beach combing. Sound and shape, I want a sunny one. Selsey is wintry, Rocks is winter, Trevose is dusk, Golden is gloaming. Remember Inch, where did that go. High Cliff is hot and sunny, but uncomfortable. Worm is January/ February. Sleepy Sherkin Cove by the maritime station, that’s the one; though all those days of film work were so sunny. Remember, try to remember, the summer. There were good times!
March 12, 2013
Eeek! A Giraffe
Six!
Meandering, lost in lowland dank, warm and cold, smells of fresh wet cotton, rotting mud and musk. Slithery bank, drips from the willow. Slip purry do dah! Nearly lost it there. Up and lever and the flat. Through the overhanging and the corners a goal post, the rail on the footbridge. Walking the dog: Where is the dog?
‘weirooweet!’
Thunder tread and rustle and
‘harghahahharhgh’
It’s me!
Grimbeau 