Grimbeau

Scroodles

Category: Journal

fishbind

primrose leviathane

 

Red

River night

Night falls red

Night falls

Red

River night

Mist

Splosh!

A

Barbel

Tryst

Hooked

On

Red 

River

Night

Custard Slice

mortimerman

(…scraps on yellow post-its,

false eyelids:

‘beauty’ on one,

‘beholder’ the other.

I simply adore funny looks…)

Perls mouse

Liberty Ship

neale one

 

Ramona, can you hear the Dockyard calling:

She nods, coy, distant.

Clanking, drag chains clamour, trailing frantic

Sombre empty vessels grey steel hulls

Slide into the salty sea

 

Growling heinous savage asides

Pledge revenge to be wreaked on distant

Raiders who may ask no mercy from on high:

Old footpads, pickpockets, chancers, wizened rouge

Consumptives retreat.

 

 

Cloth-capped shipwrights puff butts, feeling high

Looking hard, keenly noting blemishes, repairs,

Defects, work to do, and slow stare

behind at the crap strewn, broken,

dust clouded, scorched slipway

 

Mass observers congregate dumbstruck,

awed on the wrecked slipway

gazing in sombre wonder, muttering as Klaxons screech

The dust clears and the naked, absurd hulk flops

Quite near distant, adrift, buoyant.

 

Water spumes from tyred tugs jet,

Spray polluted tears from on high

Drenching squabbling gulls,

who craw and repair

to the dry side of the hull.

 

Ramona’s smiles, shining apostolic, in the dull

Room, barely heed the clamour on the stairs,

She undresses easy, I sigh,

Another Liberty Ship underway

Waiving the rules of the wolf

 

The racket distant, now less frantic

The crowd disperses, now less antic

Fleeting ecstasies, comparing, admiring

Nifty clips of the hull:

The news of recent street

 

Melt in stealth, frantic

To avoid the attentions of the rugger buggers

Muscling raucous wild things, corporal bulwarks

Flailing, clubbing, brutes culling

Conviction for conviction’s sake

Bombast

 

JFK

 

What did he ever

do for me

John Fitzgerald

Kennedy?

What indeed! Stopped world war three –

that’s a start.

An indefinite postponement so far,

Certainly.

It would be very bad for business, it

was argued,

an argument that held water

with many,

a popular viewpoint among those

who knew who

John Kennedy was.

And for those who didn’t

A chance, an opportunity

to find out.

The School of Varied Knocks

primrose leviathane

 

Soft knocks

To shut or open the Zen on the Art of Bridge,

Faust, Kafka – easy listening!

Getting my bearings, settling in, making a mess, feeling awkward.

The Bridge. I know this place well, too well. The scene of the crime, witness to disaster, base misdemeanours, sullied by cleansing agents, violated by animals, jumbled up, dumped on, dumped in.

The Bridge. Here dreams are born, and mares lived out. Stories of horses; hateful verses, grudging verses diluted. These are bad vibes. This time will be different, this is not a retreat. It’s a crucible, a temenos.

The Bridge. A place to prepare yourself in order to be yourself.

to shut or open the door at whim.

Knocks are needed to gain entry.

Hard knocks.

nightwood

Dhowling#1

Santiago

Brad the Impaler

Faron Young

Paling to significance,

Brad the Impaler, a pied butcher bird,

whistles a chirpy tune

(Imagine, if you will,

a melodic baritone

bicycle here)

and skewers a shrew for the barbie.

Life read and heard in tooth and claw,

one sighs through clenched teeth.

‘This is all the weather you get,

so you’d best enjoy it…Grrghh!’

says a balaclavad scimitar weatherman.

I will, I will!

Promise I will, croons Brad.

has the bird flown

day-2

 

Precocious as a pre-fab sprout,

Faron Young plus thirty-three.

The hour: the one before the darkest,

 

Clock the dour, prudent, tourist jurist

loping slowmo from zero to one,

distilling memento mori ad hoc.

 

Just like a Rigoletto really,

or a cigarillo nearly, huffing,

Puffing, somewhere in the night.