Grimbeau

Scroodles

Category: Poetry

February 8, 2017

Bedsheets & Spreadsheets

gericault_severed_limbs_18181318887652851

For the truth must out
Starbucks fakes a cold shower
Obstacular slowness after
Hormonal chin-wags
Static hyperactive void
Crystal set crackles and spits
Arthur Streeb-Greebling
rings out loud & clear…
Crowded house of noise
One thing at a time sweet cheese
& piccalilli circus
cavort resembling gavotte
Jericho charcuterie
Mobs baying for blood
~
House of C’mons up in arms
Speaker Berkow drops bollock
Wendy housekeeper tut-tuts—
He who cares wins out
Losers, suckers & bums guffaw
All mouth and trousers
What am I waiting for now?
Food and full abnegation
Of any responsibility
Carry on Contemptuous
Sid & Doris Bonkers
Ashen kneed Ron Face…
Destiny: Tumbrils

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February 7, 2017

doggo: Minus Catapult

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grimbeau's avatarThe Avocado

Time for a bite after a
long, steady haul so far—

Playtime!
Play nicely now
you
hear me.
No more pelting rocks
at old ladies backsides as
they are passing by.
They
know that it’s you that’s doing
it.
don’t pretend they don’t. or
me either.
& never make
Out you don’t or you’ll
end up like
the others
Hanging from the yardarm by
the cross for crimes and
misdemeanours.
That’s you.
a misdemeanour alright.
A bloody misdemeanour.

—Stop that.
stop it now,
you’re making I
laugh. She said
she had
a big bruise on her bum.
Wanted to show me…
No!!!
I did not. It was enough
to keep a straight face
as it was.
Silly old cow.
Best stop it though, luv
you might have someone’s eye out.
and you don’t want all that do you?
just play it doggo:
Minus Catapult.

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February 6, 2017

Sabbath Bloody Sabbath

Graffiti scrawled on outhouse
wall reads encrypted hogwash
post-traumatic non
compost heapos coins
the passer by leaning over
sideways sucking on a thumb,
doodling on mad scribblepad,
critiquing spondylitis,
resurrecting monomyths of
last year’s potatoes, shrivelled
up like bollocks after nights
of desperation…weeping
silently over shadows

Who that there they say
-thought that dead or done away?
Beloved beloved
Come back to smote your
beaten heart like drum
machine turned up to plenty
on the Rickenbacker Scale
of enough is not enough
Black Sabbath just passed over
Until the next time
I remain yours and
truly Paranoid….

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February 6, 2017

Slumberball

Car roof frost crept up
Under myrtle pantry hall;
Jeered snored Slumberball;
just one piss taker detained;
Monday prospects—cautious
Delicious crock auspicious:
off white slate, slick black chalk,
no shiny patent shoes,
dust puttees pour moi—
Falcons ravage Patriots,
fight onto twittering end,
Slippery stout slops puddle,
Scrumbled suds scud up aloft,
Posties perched in crowsnest crofts.
Pigeons sport posh headgear,
epaulettes & bronze brocades,
hail to the chef…get out of Dumfries,
fast as your eggs will carry you

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February 3, 2017

phillippic: desert island dusks

Night of flaky news
No sleep till Becks & Brooklyn
Every Time you say Goodbye
Seems like a nice lad
Despite appearances
To the contrary
Nero’s turn swift to burning
effigies swing on lamp posts
hard earned reputations
dangle on fraid knots
fickle fate fingers famous
fake news fallacies…
fcuk well off back
whence from where you came
flashpoints of fiction
far flung Phillipic

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February 3, 2017

Tassies of Cnoc an Iuir

knockanore

 

Gloom hawks fulminate
squawking health iniquities
preaching avoidance
stretching gruff luck
fortifying condolence
munching prescription vittles
condemning bad violence
falsifying falsified
circumstantial evidence,
smiling as they chill—

chronic condition grows worse
suitably abject, scathing:

Acting out the old soldier
routine again then are we
watching souls swim by
in mute glassy repartee?

Only in short bursts these days
Can see no future in it
Let the dud bury the dud
Off upstairs for a good stretch
Let out for bad behaviour
roam glum rollin’ hills
& Tassies of Cnoc an Iuir

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February 2, 2017

countdown to ecstasy…

ben-franklins-lightning-rod

 

Waiting for Blow Up!
messaging the gas board—
the sound of the lag
shinning down the drainpipe
hiding from the chain gang
Attila the Hen
collared by our intrepid footpad
Noel ‘Scoop’ Malarkey
Of The Avocado – authenticated
Fake News straight from the
oval lozenge stuck to the
Georgian mantelpiece
Daily drivel delivered direct
to your little orange paw.
Spirit of Adventure, St
Elsewhere, St hEnhousemuir
How I hate Fair Isle jumpers
—never eat two for God’s Sake
Beautiful—it’s not

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February 1, 2017

Tate Little

grimbeau's avatarGrimbeau

beksinski2

landscapes & portraits

awesome collections adorn

miniature still lives

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January 31, 2017

the urinal of luv

I am about Tristram Shandy, and I have radically trimmed my beard. So, while musing on Ricks’ intro to the 1967 edition, which is pretty good, it occurred to me that, if Tristram was 17yrs at a 70’s comp, what would he be like? This is an interesting basis for extending an internal monologue; for, Ricks’ intro the contrasts between the certainty of the 18th century and the uncertainty of the 20th with Gene as a certain nihilist. Perhaps this is a strand that can be pursued. It fits with the episodic sketching and maybe gives me the breadth to get away from my habitual condensation, denseness, clogginess, or whatever.
…

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January 31, 2017

TwAt

WhaT is tHis?
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