Tantrum
everything
is
post…worthy
john peel mind rock
zest lime fig leaf:
See!
We quibbled,
she queried.
I squabbled, pram toys. Suck thumb
mendaciously.
Egg fried rice in best sock.
Crippling!
Enact plan
dusk time
Grimbeau
Scroodles
Category: Journal
March 15, 2014
Loft Asylum
Downstairs out in
the muck yard for
sun and goose bumps.
In for scrambled eggs,
extortionate salmon,
and putrid sachet sauce,
pub rockers on the box
awake memories of migraines.
The rugby marathon starts below,
Seek sanctuary. ..
A Flower Tower.
Here Mandy Toxic nasalises,
clacks corset dry chortles,
bad urbane gags tickle
jodral bankers, rugby refugees,
the happy dead.
Friday nights propose
Saturday’s doze.
March 15, 2014
Overtime
Do-da-do-da-day…
at wadis elands
sip and natter,
hippos chew over
schedules and spreadsheets,
a baboon breaks cover
to bag a lax flamingo…
The sleepy papergirl wends
deftly shutting gates behind her,
delivers her wares:
vaporises,
sun beats flush soft
surges on verges…
more vainglorious burblings:
chattering classes
do not pay to rent
my ears with plummy guff,
hoarse hacks heckle, and snooties
snotter and guffaw.
True Sloth don’t rise.
Nine bleeps.
The leather hunters make bone soup,
dowse piss on the curing hides.
Red Lorry due at ten
Yellow lorry twelve
March 14, 2014
That was not a Pipe
So, farewell Tony Benn,
wild eyed scion of socialist stuff,
that was not really a pipe,
it was surreal
like lobster telephones,
and soggy clocks.
My mate Terry always
mistook you for Dennis Skinner,
but you were thinner on top.
Anyway, he won’t make the same
Mistake again
I hope.
March 14, 2014
Kedgeree
As I kick up a fuss
thrashing about
in the undergrowth
on the boundary,
my furious petulance
amusing the dog-walkers,
Tony Benn is announced dead.
March 14, 2014
Dragged Up
Thick fog, drooping rose…
daybreak,
soft pink sound
footpad breaking glass,
crystal chandelier smashed:
avalanche,
no wonder,
wrists swaddled
heavy
linen
watch.
March 13, 2014
Drifting Torso
Bills and banks bob up
blankly blinklessly
Ghoulishly gawping,
gazing, and grinning
Sink back, you wish, but
they are sure anchored
(remotely controlled
hydraulic timer)
until you will dive in
sever the drogue cord.
Then watch them drift away
out of sight but never mind.
March 13, 2014
Number One Dream
Resent, trust’s wounded beast, lives deep, a profound
scar rifts its nook. Odd weather rouses it:
mood clouds,
orangeade, golden maned breeze, late day sun
knowing in corn grove by stile, John Lee Hooker,
and screams
outside the sky blue window last Friday.
Hurt’s old pals, bacillus and succubus,
they thrive on bad blood, consecrate murder,
and relish the thrill of momentary gore.
Quick, the black and white machete swoops,
You see silhouetted antennae;
open, indigo renaissance skies,
crowds flood through crooked pervious walls,
or melt away down through cleft gloss cobbles.
March 12, 2014
Ahoy! Sentient Being Ahead…
Over in the corner you make out a stranger,
you make out a stranger across a musty room,
and suddenly you know,
you know even then,
he needs a wheel and a chair, and a pen…
March 11, 2014
Hugh
Tried to think up some words
about Dad
and
got no further than the death event,
clearer now than ever,
calmer,
or so it seems.
Should feel more hurt,
of course,
wear a flag of woe.
Or black with good cause.
And Mean it.
Thirty fucking years ago.
Now we both have no teeth and bad feet,
I trumped you with the wheelchair:
No huffing there.
Losing hair as well, but not white yet.
Far from it.
Not like you at twenty-two.
I lay in the same corner as you now,
on a hospital bed.
Not dead, just resting.
Grimbeau 