We press on regardful that…
It’s Maundy Thursday
We must love one another
or there’ll be trouble
tomorrow morning after
a heavy night on the tiles
awaiting cold spring rainfall
selected leaf out
extra special attention
chosen at random…
please allow me to
introdouche myself
man of well fanned haste
animation met a sticky one
blown away puer anarchy
downsized collective conchshellnesses
Personified Vietnam as glitch
Seen Through GI Gilmore’s peepers
In the Jungle Book called Life
Apocalypse Now & then builds strangers!
Was justice a matter of time spent wishing?
After red masque ball pastiche, rehash
Hanging out dirty washing on the Maginot Line
Computer generated egos crumble under post optical somatic catatonics
Working hard at it she she claimed, beavering away, making coffers and indiscreet lagoons with yellow sundries from the ash cart windfall— a thankless task but someone somewhere must step up to the plate, try their very best, give their all, one hundredth of a percent at a time— so a thousand beavers would sort it if they were so inclined would they?
Downhill racers struggle without gravity, what fog feels like hanging in the callow strikes me, those muddy cattle look opaque in this light, like their doing untimed cryptic crosswords, me I stick to sticks and stones, pretty square some say, cubists so they claim but I know the type, grave robbers and enchantresses with altitude sickness…
Glassworks breaks me up and leaves me shatter in tiny pieces like a lake of prisms after rain, a ripple passes through her, where has my drive, my desire gone? No point in asking, all is done for training porpoises to jump hoops and technobabble…give up the shooting match altogether, she thought, I’ll never leave this place, just push soft unforgiving walls— words really haunt
She who sleeps sinnest not, I was told on waking, downstairs a dog runs through the smoking room, we climb the steppes in bandaged boneless feet, get spotted seeking Shelter from the Storm in a little hilltop village called Pat Buchanan for some unknown treason, the Yanks were around a lot in those old cold war days…
Just put it all together, two by two. Wonders then will never cease, it’s just that you won’t notice now you know the knack of it. Swing and roundabouts will conspire, playgrounds caked in cake, a robin shits on the aspidistra. Look what happens when the window’s are left open?
Frit on the front lawn,
mulling mindlessly over
which berries are brownable,
and contemplating
an eight foot oak with huge mauve leaves
planted by you this day forty-eight years ago,
when god was a boyband
before we fell out over fake news
the vandals who smeared your new shoes.
Yes, a grudge-bearer of sour-grapes,
well hard done by then as now.
It is still too bold to sit out
in t-shirt and shorts
when the clouds pass over.
The blossom gives way
to rampant leaf growth.
Now tell me once & for all
Is a cherry a kosher berry?
—where’s this to, this loaf
bound for, headed, going:
i.e up dale or down dale,
pebble dashed hailstone rain,
tinkled on torrential like,
sprinkled drips twinkling toe caps,
rainbow highlights eyelash,
sparkling water falls, splish-splash-splosh,
pink wellies slop over full of krill and saffron sea cress, glow of nightjar
sinking easterly frames a sentence served
—or whither then,
shanty townscape,
cracked up pavement
southside sloper, conscious nimble
strider flits, ramrod string bean dipped in slime mascara,
held together by slow seedy joint and spindle whispers,
‘here’s a head with an arse to follow,
in shop window selfies stoop, looking round blind corners,
taking corridors on one at a time…’
—or once overheard
talking bull or elephant
shit late night train crunching tins and little boy lunch
foil packed by lung lost parents long gone munching
french fries and pocket money,
the big hard nut who put the world to rights with a simple push of penknife
and a jammy dodger wrapper riding foolish buckler
—aint going nowhere
much it seems, hard luck stories pack ‘em in
huddled up under flapping oilskins on Bigbumpity sands,
catching your death in the faux blue lagoon,
rescued by wary poltergeists, raised as one of theirs,
minus foibles and sundry endearing characteristics
—mindbombs go off,
ham salad grenades,
sticky bun insects, cheesy carnage, comic strip square jawed uggos,
give it a rest for chrissakes will you?
Well turned stony ground wins through parched earth moiety,
unicorn fish, one of our radiators is lost,
what a bleeding shame
Python
Who will be King of the Mountain?
The spurts and dramatic surges
come fast and furious
from behind the drunken camera,
red mist clouds mingle
obscure a bloated moonlit summit—
unclenched by rarefied daylight hours,
curtains pulled on damp khaki trousers
forelawn it lies the grasses billow,
a potted pear tree is quick felled,
Provenance: grown from seed
by lusty Cecelia it now lolls
flopped on the worn out bird table.
Nasty shock on awaits some
due to freakish start— bowels unmoved,
face unshaven, body stale as bread.
Suffered well earnt defeat on the board
snapped mixing with lower portholes—
that going over last night lingers, brushed aside
like the fly I brushed away
at the top of the knock off swelter
of my fish supper two days back now.
Who will be the king of the world—
not I today, not me.
too smart for the likes of me
stuck up a churchyard yew tree naked
as a birdman trying to figure out where
it all went so very wrong again — put it gown
to the form of the day birdbrain
Each one a new one
A different case of upstairs
Did I say no chess today—
Well so what I was wrong
Put a derringer to my head
And just keep missing
Now time trudges wet
Sandshoe shuffle shod in sloppy seconds—
snide red caps doffed hide furtive grins
Faces crescent—shaped venally daft
Trying to zone in, get a grip, any grip,
be rid of this, this, this…
profane, pernicious accidie.
~
Dai the Morf & Wily Dan confer
to hatch a slick masterplan
to swamp the market in eiderdown
or farm mink in Chipping Norton
or timewatch daily brexit as life goes on
a walk in the baked park
—so many murders these day you dont
know where to step first?
Beer to throw up like
In the air & beer to drink
First half, piss call, second half,
Butt wall, third half crawl slowly
Back underground with the turnips
Sobbing sullen soft cell walls we hiss
dripping sober sticky sweat to lick…
door-gell tolls the knell of passing beast
spyrings crop circles short
some verve agents slip away in junky night
thicko suspect plots and trails of vapour cloud
reveal encrypted tissues scrunched up in balls
streaming skies twinkle like aluminium foil:
Watch Window as it falls to earth
—Such thoughts for one so young, Ickle Star, she tuckles and hurrums, baritine chesty undertones of beargrowl
—Gigglchips! Giggle ships chuckled laughing at dada gurgling waterspouse
~
Trying to zone in on Zagreb,
get a grip any old grip-grip
tune in to Helvetia be rid of
profound, turbulent accidie.
–Oh yes indeed this one never sleeps
Nor toils nor spinning jennies
~
Office workers faraway eyes
Peeping out marmosttishly
Behind doors, curtained windows,
banks of giant screams
remember the Eye of Horus
halting the Aeneid in full flow
‘Take moi pronto to your Leda,
I come to cook a goosey-gander!’
Beer to throw & beer to drink
First half, piss call, second half,
Hit wall, crawl slowly
Away to extra time
Sobbing behind soft cell walls
Grimbeau 