Poetry | Grimbeau

December 5, 2017

Nip & Tuck

Flute bore Marsyas got
skinned alive by lyre plucking Apollo
after coming second in winner takes all musical combat
Fellow demi-gods
make tears so copious a river
sprouts which still bears his name today.
He had been warned off sternly
Roudly thrashed by pouty Minerva
could not let accursed instrument alone.
He had been warned off by Apollo too but sped long headstrong enchanted to his fate:
serial hubris—merciless nemesis.
A macabre tale of divine brutality. The jury is rigged
Marsyas’ reputation faired much better in Rome
Some say…on the quiet

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December 1, 2017

blue rumours

Grimbeau

~ spook sure discombobulate, sheet white Joe Tin lopes egg shell wary these days, once this rookie journeyman peels opens shed door flaps, flour waves sprinkle fond farewellies to all that’s powder

~ crystal ghost ships croak wretched raspers, gurgling clover bloated wind smote sheep disgrace abrasive grassland, all accomplished under wheezing smiles oxygen assisted daybreak yields pink linctus…

~measure by measure spondules droop, eyelids refuse to blink, can openers duck issues, a smoking bun is found malingering by the oildrums, Cheeseman overegged the custard slices just for old times sake

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December 1, 2017

Effluenza

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She
coughed a cough someone could hear
grabbed and kissed the solid air,
looked into the Frigidaire,
and put away the butter.

He
folded up his underwear,
placed them neatly on a chair,
washed his ears, his nose, his stare,
and pulled of his pyjamas

They
felt the need to disappear,
not another fucking year,
like the last yet more severe,
once they had a future.

That
was a thought that got too near,
pledge to not give in to fear,
get the fuck right out of here,
find a warmer climate

It
is just the time of year,
that makes you cry into your beer,
put a candle in your ear
and bake you own Alaska.

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November 26, 2017

Cabbage Patch Blues

Grimbeau

Mud is the median

Of dearth and flood

In this Garden of

Earthly Detritus.

The Luisenpark Park:

little old boys playing

giant chess under obsolete

scarlet pergola

Right next to the practical

Functional, punctual Imbiss,

Come ride the lurid

primrose chain drawn rowboats

Judder and jerk through the claggy,

pissed off captive flamingos huddled on

a muddy spit

shivering under bleak gaze

submission

Resignation to the cold war grey

telecom tower.

It scares proud erect,

savoy green voluptuaries

flourish about the subterranean root

The rest is waste. A weedy, rotting hinterland

of winter ruin and neglect. As I wince a

black plastic sheet sneers at my disdain.

I lean defiant on the fork,

earth yields to the fronds.

Resistance assumes novel

steadfast lopsided defiance.

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November 24, 2017

The Dread Aftermath of Naked Gambolling

Grimbeau

yet another

clam-bake

funday

a diddle-dee-dum day

a sufficiency of sun day

a my god what have I done day;

subsequently,

red raw

Bum Day

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November 20, 2017

ooze

Primeval eel forest
6.37 alarum triumph
Gordon ‘Call me Benito, Hen’ Bennett-Brown weighs in
Visigoth horse shoe archways Theodoric runs yer legs orf
State of mind yer own: damp fractal legume lizard
Crocodillo east of lavalamp
Splodgerama yucca (New windOw doOdle) HOots munn…stir
(dere he goes again with the siLly wOtsits)
Yes, yEs, yeS dear Butt, but…he writes, he breathes, he lives.
Loopy Lazarus
elides horseshoe archways…
Doodle, doodle,
Johnnie ‘Jack’ daw.
Do not get
out of your depth;
wade in over your head –
looky, look ye yonder swell
Wavy canopy.
Shimmers wrong way up
Lean back and you float fall
everso slow feet
fall up head fall back.
Undead man’s float.
Nose down in wet grass.
Seasluggerama
lazy crazy dive.
Burial at See –
last willy and teste
(contested). Chop me
up and feed me to
the fishy wishies,
trays of crushed ice
(Rose of Casteel),
like wedding cake,
post a piece to friends
and family, wrapped up in
tri-ply kitchen towel to
sorb up the oozings…
whiff of ‘Goobyee
cruella werld’ innit, sour
grapes, bitterness,
distemper tantrumS

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November 11, 2017

Nightshed

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Ophelia seethes stallion temperatures reach levels just plain unacceptable for mid-Julys when calendars roamed the earth—pregnant with rampant satyr—tiny pitta patter of cloven hooves stirring the cauldron pot—rupture fakes junk tradition like salmon mimic poodles
Winsome day stares, lysine satyrs make hay fore smoothies some crushed thing feels velvet ice, starfruit guilt on lanoline, fevers deliver us from antiseptic chores, come five it should be done and dusted for the heirophant
Whose runestones sully my chemise? The permanence of outrage conceals mendacious logic. Watch dust settle fast like loopy gifs. I picked up pretending I was stoical like soggy tapioca blinds. Strange these thoughts of red meat, fish and fratricide, playing on my lyre
Rinsing dishes salves scene three: just bear in mind the tea towels conspire like mathematicians in seemingly random numbers, that’s when the claxon insists on sacrificial offerings of three day old goat’s milk sorbet and bluebells