Butter & Twisted
Turmoil! Chaos! Anarchy!
Toast marmalade sour grapes
Washed down with orange
Mug of ersatz crude …
Grimbeau
Scroodles
Category: Poetry
November 7, 2016
November 7, 2016
Forthcoming Distractions
We are going to a very dark place, says the primal scream on global wireless: the republic cannot withstand its savagery Selfie Studios set to release A blockbuster Thanksgiving special Double Bill The Death of Nation Built on Slavery & The Decline & Fall of the Human Condition that must not under any circumstance improve but may register its disapproval vociferously by pressing buttons that turn out the light
November 6, 2016
Zero Hours Poet
Just get the one hour these days
to write this guff so I’d best
just get a move on
there’s others waiting
and they’re growing restless
Yeah, they cut me down
to one hour for my own good,
or so they tell me, and, in
many ways they have a point.
At least when I’m just sitting
doing nothing else, I know
I’m doing nothing.
Sure, I could be making do,
doing a job, all of that right stuff,
but that is not what I want to do
Write?
Well…
Be, be and write?
Yeah, write & be
Is something missing?
Yea, happy
Happy, write and be?
That’s it. Write and be happy.
You’ve got fifteen minutes left
Now I’m very sad
I’m very sad to have heard that
Send my commiserations
All my thoughts and prayers
To whom it may have concerned
November 6, 2016
Damp Squibbles
The road is full up
bold brazen alien cars—
fireworks party sleepover,
vodka cheeseburgers,
Haircut 100 (Boy Meets Girl),
Megadeath (Love’s Old Sweet Song)
—sailing metaphor
discovered cringing in
uncharted waters.
Here?
Early night after watching the box—
quiet as a sober xmas and about
as memorable
as a drunken one.
That time of year is about
After all that sleep I am up early,
cognizant of bowel, reminiscing all the time,
self-nutting, never the plaintive, always the pontiff,
he who must be dismayed at all times,
grovelling before the
altar of adverse opinion.
Waiting for my hat to be knocked off
Ireland beat the All Blacks in Chicago—
were they wearing Blue Shirts?
Always feared the Moor, the Bogmen*
And its bog weather down here in the Cut
Dross grey damp dank murk
Sunday in November
Glamorous brown tortoiseshell
bicycle clips seconded
make-do Alice bands
by stray myopic pedlars
*The bogman learnt to fear the Moor
when they left the quay of Baltimore
with a penchant for paella,
whitewash, and a wife and kids,
slave traders of the Levant,
sporting nubian pantaloons,
chain smoking ali baba camels
swiped them in the night
November 4, 2016
warm wind & piss on
really quite remote
barren archipelagos
Warts, nomads, bunions
carbuncles & verukas
Diver plunges in
Splosh!
‘Come out of there!’
Loud came the stern reply
‘Not on your Nelly!’
‘Leave my Nelly out of this.’
Democracy drives yo proper crazy
Roller Skaters glide
on dried up cripple creeks
ambulances circulate
half-buried yellow Thunderbirds
poking wings out of true blue sand
long hair blowing in the wind
Whoosh!
November 2, 2016
Chimps
Midday monkeyhouse
Vicarage tea anecdotes
Stretch out big red chair
Occidental death of an
English Inanest
Praise the ammunition
Bypass the Lawyer
Lost in a golden fairy light
Seven ages of America
Iron this and iron that
Crystal methodology
Clear as kerosene
Smell of burning ice
November 1, 2016
Daft Parade
Just sat here watching
The saints go marching
in picking up sweets
& detritus of consumer
hellraising last night—
abandoned cellphones
grotesque prosthetic
cruel rubber masquerades—
O! to be a flea
in that golden fleece
Slurping ambrosia
Post richly deserved
beatification
An unknown soldier
Marching as to War
Seventy six trombones
In the morning sun
Kill the Pig Parade
Magic mushroom bands
Trip the light fantastic
Lambs to the slaughter
O! Muse why art though not
wholeheartedly sick
Of this daft parade
parasitic worms?
October 31, 2016
Blubber
Alpha, beta, theta male
Turgid prone blue bloated whale
Wretched in the morning sun
Tide went out, your undone
Mr Pye and Mrs Fleece
Dissecting you for ambergris
October 31, 2016
noon moon
down in tinkly dell erratic heffers gambol pissed from windfall quince tranquil chaos rains solar moon bewildered shrubberies tired armies retire benevolent anarchy rules sentimental clocks warble hogs go truffle rummaging lepidoptera go with
October 31, 2016
A Dude Awakening
...you are not writing thus you are not a writer i am not writing thus i am not a writer -better quickly jot that down quick over there that paper scrap with spuds eggs, toilet rolls, dog food,crisps some forgotten shopping list or postmodern masterpiece what a bloody mess better get out the Hoover later there's nothing on the other side where's the pen? there, a pen, blue dried up biro, it might just work today. Increasingly violent circles- watch it, you'll rip it: A pencil! there behind the box of menthol vapes behind the burning candle careful, slowly does it that's how accidents occur i really must go to the loo. the dog wants to go out i can let him out and go downstairs, listen to the early morning news Shit! the clocks went back it's bloody Alan Bennett fetching in the milk i am not a writer i am not writing you are not a writer you are not writing
Grimbeau 