May Come September…
Mud found in third eye
Oversight on your behalf
Foot in mouth disease
Calamity Jane holds up
the Deadwood Stage for kicks
Grimbeau
Scroodles
Category: Journal
May 22, 2017
May 19, 2017
Carnage
Slice up bloody oranges
two four six eight sanguine smiles…
aluminum aluminium
lapis lazuli corpus
tinctured
sink top
lays down cool pedestrian
altar piece groove
sacrifice limbs & digits
deafly unwielding rustic
ludic breadknife
to serrate jagged
bedraggled Sevillians
garish gumshield
quartered segments
skin & pith intact
snaffled up cutish
tense borne by bent paw
over chasmic chasm
The sure chariot passes
Imperious, regal, sublime
above vile
sundry understuffs
Abysmal unmentionables,
Microbial, teeming tootsies
strewn obscenely
About the titan grey floor
swaddled one of my heads in
bindweed, strangulating
taut lime shoelace gristle,
heat seeking drowsy
missile, destination
compost
amygdala sun spot
erupts in symmetry
down in dingly dell
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
January 9, 2017
One Stop Shoplifter
The first Human Contact of
the Week Award goes to…
F-Bomb,
who, while supersaturated
with head-crunching prescription
drugs, heard out my proposal
with consummate alacrity…
Attempts to remedy the parlous
tobacco situation have fallen on deaf legs
A canned orchestra plays wistful dainties on the window sill
I listen out for salvation—
no salvation arrives on the ten-fifty two
Emil Coiran cracks me up
We are all failures—like it
Dormant bureaucrat
Can’t wait to get on with it
Administration
More disappointment on demand
Basic human rights movement
Sings love’s old sweet song:
Academe, Sweet Academe
How still I see thee
Lying through your teeth
Understand you shortcomings
Before you start discussions
Terms of endearment
Fall on quilted ears
December 29, 2016
Early Magic Bus
sun don’t work today
sits on neon omnibus
weeping like a baby
jackdaw trapped in hearth set free
safe home now comrade raven
acknowledge the greatest
dreams keep their own diaries
float like an anapaest
from here to eternity
stinging butterfly
December 19, 2016
Seaward Huh!
Crashed out from seven to eleven
& so on & so forth all the long night long
Necessarily punctuated by bouts of micturition, coffee
& tap water, insucks on a menthol vape, alpha
Meandering through the channel & guides in search of
Something beyond my control·I am not
Who I was & am what I am·
Winzerschlafenziet or so they call it
In wobbly obscurantist circles:
Crimson sheets barely tell
The tip of the icebreaker
Crashing through pack ice
& all night teleshopping
Even when soaked overnight
In saline and lavender
~
Quite why I am here
For some reason escapes me
(common in a chick of my age
That’s what oft I hear)
Or so the experts, goldfish
And fellow imbeciles explain
I think there is another reason:
Terminal boredom
Which (I am unreliably informed)
Comes from deep down within one
A remark that never fails to
Incite me to outrageous
acts of crochet & fretwork
which I later would mortally regret
If I could only remember what they
Were & consider them worth
Categorising as such—
this also bores me and drives me to fits
of desperation that distract me & that’s
why accidents like people occur…
11.18
No dump!
Where’s my strutting arrogant piranha gone?
Stone crazy bower birds pinch my trinkets.
Harpies pester & rag my innards.
Make a stand for decency!
Go to ‘Sea’ again before the New Tear
Guess I’ll go below
& take a blow
Fake a bow to indifference
Milk the plaudits for what they’re worth
Fifty short of six thousand likes for the year
& not a bean to show for it
But the inner glow…
November 12, 2016
Shuttlecock & Battledore
Not writing thus read
Goes the old threshing machine
Inside out workings
Belching, churning, lurching with
All the bits showing
Like Norman Foster
Or the Duke of Kent thanking
Ball boys and ball girls
For their servile services
Perhaps if he wore a floral hat
Like his smiley wife
It might brighten things up
Cut the military kit
If it’s nice out wear no clothes
Watch out for that wild fanbelt
And the people in smocks
Sporting giant pitchforks
Tripping on ergot
In the antic hay
And the grumpy teenager
With the machete
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
October 7, 2016
Emma Euphoria
Emma stood blank in half-eight demi-light thinking causes for one shit up & two shits below: stale toast, ancient Camembert, fatty olives, decaying salad, egg & chips, late night salmon, oily roast root vegetables, midsummer nectarine, squashy pears, rich cream cheesecake, bottle of white wine, after eight mints, dirty glasses, yes, dirty glasses…
Dirty bedclothes full of stale flu-sweat, skin flakes, dandruff, and smokey house dust
Sink full of dirty dishes, greasy black hob, sticky fingers, slimy forboding corners, swampy miasma, fairy lights hanging from the dogroses.
Handel’s Water music strutted on the wireless. Which came first, thought Emma, the water or the fireworks? Was it linear or circular? Either way it was always the same old Handel. How very reassuring. Not.
The last two weeks had oozed bad news.
9.34
Radio daze…
10.58
No post or calls? Not yet. Have a think. Check your incoming. Read about writing. Perhaps more radio. Tidy the kitchen. Why me? I’m a cripple. A raspberry ripple. Wheelchair Bound. Simon and Garfunkel.
11.04
A sudden burst, a rat-ta-tat, six minutes at least it lasts. Nothing moves but these twisted fingers on the keyboard. A radio monologue describes an airport encounter. John Mortimer.
Namedropper, that’s what I’ll call it. namedropper. James Joyce Carol Oates.
A Friday in October.
Sounds awesome.
afridayinoctober…
nearly gave in there. The urge to blog. SOS to the world #3064…fills the time & I like it. quiet. Just the radio. Me & the Radio. The wireless. The Other Girl by John Mortimer, that’s what it was. Calls? Check for incoming. Clean up. Put the kettle on. Polly.
13.36
Foodless and fancy food means cook sausages—will it be with chips?
Afternoon dawns grey mass dormant air leaves dampen droop slump
Weather report done.
H-bomb calls about F-bomb. Emmer Greensward, Reading. The long haul begins. Chips or the full Monteverdi? Tough call, tough, tough calll…
—Trim your beard, you slob
—In the fullness of thyme, Master. The fullness of thyme.
Get out some haddock to deforest. Is this a hangover or just bog standard gastro-enteritis? No fried eggs, no chips. Green salad, Tabasco, shallots, spinach…
Euphoria
October 6, 2016
Roman Holiday
Pope meets Archbishop —
they make love, clean up, and part
on amicable terms
Grimbeau 