Grimbeau

Scroodles

Category: Postcard

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Red Mud

Chiropractors rule under
unknown worlds of boney calcite gristle–
‘We take you to bits but do not know how to
put you back together’ they declare
damming misdirecting truncating spurning subjecting —

consider a topography of tubes and screens
draining into olive kidney dishes,
ox bow crimson lakelets,
and opaque epidural highland tarns.
hear up echoes resound to hollow vessels

mimic the clunk of dropping spanners;
observe soft rivets tremble at the thought;
contemplate the fighting Tamarare tugboat straining
its chrome yellow hawsers.
Gravesend is all lit up for monkey business.

elsewherea pink mist of locusts
flock remorseless as wallpaper
part to reveal the true Kilimanjaro
bypassed by a Hemingway flyover
while those nearby nose dive into soft sage bush

Stratus shall get the gutter work if they want
when the bleeding chaffinch stops
leaving an indelible mark
that vanishes without trace
beneath the red mudddied third mind’s eye

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May 20, 2021

The Party for Moderate Progress Without the Bounds of the Law

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You who remember Squire Gonks’ Almanac and Charlie’s Aunt beware. Beware of foam stuffed velvet aphids. of gaudy palmable comfort bags,  of protei packed cabbage patch dollies, and other suchlike pre Vietnamese potbellied fads.  Gaudy were those blobs born fully formed of an optic oil crisis and a  major miner’s strike that felled a regime of long standing empire of snot, botched though they were by lumpen candlelight late into the black out night during the three day week, when a ten o clock blindfold was a plaything of the pissed.

If the Gonks could do it then you could do it too. You could have a privileged white space hopper or a bespoke purple chopper and flaunt your carefree brazen streak in broad daylight through  scrumptious corporate orchards. Mister Mennish in ambition but not so cuddly as gonks were in a disposable tactile tantrum way; eminently best home-makeable on the laminate dinner table – blunt scissors, clear gummed, sample felts of tasteless hues & farbs – put it together and you surely got your Gonk!

Mine bestie was called Paulus, a mythical gnome in a fabulous lamimate wood, purloined from under a trestle table at a school fete worse than death by gammon tickling. It was Paulus who suffered a fly on the wall documentary crew to film in his ancestral home and share the ups and downs of  pastoral life in the knot of a tree with a bunch of fellow arboreal misfits . As I recall there was a big mean black crow called Ted Hughes who harboured deep dark secrets of the occult and allotment plot.

Paulus disintegrated  after a vigorous drubbing in a temperamental twin tub. having always had a penchant for self harm then known as accident prone by abusive adults.

Life sure weren’t perfect by no means in the seventies. 

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May 17, 2021

When all the seas run dry

when the moon in the sky 
is a big peice of pie it's perturbing
all martians are closet anthropologists
the quality of mercy is not strained 
hence the lumpy bits
seize the day gently 
by the scruff and rotate 
leeward on its axis
run rabbit ran the takeaway on gin lane
dry me a river 
as i dried a river 
over last weekend  
my baby don't send me clothes 
love can move fountain pens
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April 27, 2021

Wonderfield

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Purple sloping Wonderfield

Bog cattle hugging below

Sat like the statue thinking

Halfway up on a blasted stump

Beneath a humming pylon

Beside a scruffy gorse

Sits a painted horse

Myrtle twizzling track

Made respectable by

Tarmac and white strips

Desiccated coconut flakes

Magnolia and cherry blossom

Windblown dusting cows snouts

Makes them shuffle, snort in concert

Painted horse sneezes along aloof

 

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April 26, 2021

Rite

flishuff

a face full of kites & whites

all plot lost to angst

Sorted out my window sill

Nothings mission crept

anguish swept away substance

stupid hat cant rant

House of Teeth beneath

The North face of The Ogre!

Daily melanoma gobshites

West of Eden seething:

bleeding all the way to the tank…

*

day dawns grey pink crazy haze

dream genie quits bird for bottle

torpid rush hour to Squit City.

slow sleepy jet trails backward.

Solitary blackbird yawns

when you have read this

check top of head for gaps

Yes?

You just did a pome

No?

Better luck next time

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March 22, 2021

brutal huge on laudanum and eggplant

 

 

 

Foot zing alarming after redress—

stillborn labour long and arduous;
earthquakes grumble

sullen tallow poesy,
very nice though it seems,

a can of worms called

cryogenic masochism. the rood that came unglued. nothing hinged springs easy.
Where is it to go?
Forlorn in no faced media; a crowd of ones and zeros swaps ;
O not to live like that if I make it through this eternal night;

Snoopdogs of a thousand faces;

lit from underneath by lime
twixt screens disposed to wander

looking for a break
a let up in the bombardment reveals
a pile of rubble heaped

beside a cranky trebuchet
lightly dusted with talcum powder
redolent in no way of instant mash

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March 22, 2021

The Dream of Homunculus

Woke up muttering astonishment, ruby jumper crushed on a damask outcrop, leapt limply from penthouse window, thought I must a crazed intruder, some illegal alien or a late night shopper carousing minus funny money,

Rain lashed Kildare High St, dead of night, lumpen teeming moonies, letting out the dogfish, floppy velvet hats, shirtsleeve weather strange, break in clouds deduced, curious chair dismantled in a narrow alley. Upturned news stand consequence, pushy driver takes the rap, formula one marauder, empty room pulsates, furnished lobby giggles, holiday let contracts, commands a salient view, bendy flat horizon, step outside on stilts, reckon high on cedar, always muddled vista, inconclusive sparrow, reverent pariah, incautious wing commander, terminally droll.

Hubristic two faced cubists should not wonder, leap of faith required, fatal blunder buster, sods conjoined by deadlock, noman torn asunder. Rhyming slang bewildered, gentle thunder applauds, door jamb screeching doughnut, head on concrete pillow. Leaping crayfish willow. Bruce Lee Brilleaux padding. Me no hip hop shopper, came a sherpa cropper. dropped a deep space hopper, insulted missus mopper, plangent belly flopper, blissful billow popper…

Tell sour story your way, pulling no prissy punches and when the time comes roundly recite the following by hearth:

How dreary the winds shriek and whine:
The trembling shadows grow chill.
O soul of my soul, wert thou mine!

O where are the stars that did shine?
The moonlight that tinselled the hill?
How dreary the winds shriek and whine!

Despair ’round my heart doth entwine,
Far soundeth my cry weird and shrill:
O soul of my soul, wert thou mine!

I’ve quaffed to the dregs the mad wine
Of passion, but under my sill
How dreary the winds shriek and whine!

’Tis thine, is the dream so divine,
That doth this vain yearning instill;
O soul of my soul, wert thou mine!

’Tis mine, here to crave and to pine
For what thou wilt never fulfill;
How dreary the winds shriek and whine!
O soul of my soul, wert thou mine!

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January 6, 2021

Mews

Grimbeau

In 

 

Seamless

Sleep

I saw you

Gallivanting

 

A 

Sumptuous

Blaze

consumed me

Juvenating

the wake

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November 28, 2020

Après Ultra (Diego Marijuana RIEP)

New Grub Street records below for future delectation; and on the ruby doorstep, a letter for Professor Phipps containing a packet of pulverised sage to keep the lonely onion happy & engaged in crazed seasonal endeavours lies. A nuclear fog subsumes Trollenberg as zombies fill the diswashers incanting the curses of Mali and smiling on the memory of Nkrumah’s wizard foxtrot.

‘Maradonna’s dead’

‘Good, but what of little Diego?’

‘Mudlarking, no doubt. Slicing dentures from washed up concubines of the East Indian in inky sepia drab. A crow observes from a tendrilled groyne. All is muted, unspectacular. Waters lap. A heat pipe giggles in Abrasia.

‘Will he wash?’

‘In good time, when opportunity arises.’

‘The crusty stench is beyond the daily luminal’

‘Crud!’

‘Poor wee Diego’

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November 11, 2020

Jump the Broom

Grimbeau

bedview

The Phoney War on Slapstick Ends…
Times like this began with General Approval in deep hotchpotch jaw-jaw back of Nico’s bar and grill traducing clam-baked mongrel hoc polloi
‘Better late than never’, sighed swan necked Frieda Sluggish flicking though a growing stack of IOU’s and billet doux. Silhouetted against the bleak midwinter skyline it all appeared quite plausible to steady bogus Chad, whose tab fetish was the talk of the mobsters.
‘Flower sales sank to an all-time low—O’Bannion’s gotta magpie coming his way if things do not pick up by Valentine’s’, said Dom in matching ball gown and crozier.
Hosiery was ever a cut-throat trade; less a game of football and more a matter of life and debt. Smart plague dogs knew that much as they did their rounds of the loose limbed irons that littered the sidewalks of Prague
‘This place reeks of optimism—check out the Assassin’s Diary for…

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