Dawn Bum
Seven up, up, up
crucial wooden stairs ascent
to Disburthenshire
Grimbeau
Scroodles
Category: Journal
March 19, 2015
Number Crunch
point six recurring
terminal velocity did
what it said on tin
March 18, 2015
paraklute
Sure is
a long way to tip
O’Reilly
after lamb
steak nosh
some
in and out in
the cold
sunny morning
it
is as back
to be to
wooze
my way
Gideon’s
abject budget
to wake
undone
alone,
aware of onewhere
droning phone
March 18, 2015
Eggset Stun
Stark naked park oak
Bronze burns amber sundown
White copper glare
Traffic blazes slowmo trail
Sparkler impromptu squiggles
Embossed on slow retina
Fading as the day does too
March 17, 2015
Wide Blue Wanda
Vibe changes sundown
Clustered scapples save the day
White wine weds olives
Anglepoised action stations
Awaiting further information
To impart to my reader
Zelda ‘Toots’ Zuchenslooper
A dogged fighter
Carniverous wolverine
Hypercyclically disposed
Tea and oranges
March 17, 2015
In Place of Here
Fluted green fretwork
ominous picturebook snap
asylum records
abandon faith all of you who
enter here without permits
March 17, 2015
Uglies
Look! gurgling gargoyles
grotesquely gurning gargling
blistering mouthwash
March 17, 2015
Grumbleswamp
Cleaned up as
best I wanted,
feeling slumpish,
taddish offish.
Make a wishlist!
Worst it can do
is not come true
if you’re careful.
The glums are dripping,
grumbling swamp gobs.
I have just done
more this morning
than all weekend.
Ghost revealed his hairy hand,
trimmed his balded pate,
gave himself the willies,
curled up before liars on telly,
waiting on next second wind
to fumigate the fuggers.
March 16, 2015
Hubristic Wreckage
Hew rugged slither
yesterday’s one tray pork roast,
suitably dried up
penitential fare fuels wet
parlous noonday situation.
Grey March murk supplies
the worldview damp dust thin mud.
Still I am glad to
Survive weekend onslaught
With my genius still intact
March 13, 2015
Still Running Sore
It came in fourth
The horse you said
Would win the race
There were three other ones in front
Of the horse you put your last sou
On while you snored and snored and snored…
Age: old. Status: inconsiderable
Lump of matter, more fat than water
Surplus to requirements
Inbuilt obsolescent
Thumb-sucker; bad attitude
One of nature’s malconcontents
Think: Brando in ‘The Wild One’
On a white pogo stick.
I know the type:
Mass murderer
Who never killed
Anything in his eventless life
Never harmed a fly on purpose ‘cept
When he made you cry on purpose.
Grimbeau 