Caparison
Fresh, clear, sunny, Blueskies pastel, white fluffs
hazy haze…bunged up tubes:
Liquids –
please apply within.
Outside now for a smoke and a quibble.
Is there chicken still for tea?
New potatoes, new peas, new beans, new lamb…
new dawn
Grimbeau
Scroodles
Category: Journal
July 27, 2013
Brooklyn’s Buggy
Siegfried came and went:
Sixty-Niner
Move faster,
Desiderata:
‘Go Bentley
without Plates…’
July 27, 2013
You Jest!
Wise fool,
state clown,
so no impact,
mock the weak,
so to speak,
ridicule the powerful,
doss down
in the vestibule,
drool,
cool…
Nose to grindstone.
Hard slog.
Trudge.
Yomp.
This is peace!
More mud than sludge.
What we put inside eachother…
do not nose. So, what’s to do today?
Sun, food, cider, shower…
Parsifal’s gone fishing should anyone ask.
July 26, 2013
Faffing
Showered thoroughly, racket of motors and gardeners ergo
no P&Q – which should be minded at all times. Pills taken
after scotch egg and salad. Sit outside in the din? Coffee & Fag first,
Friday afternoon slope off early. Bone piece on Hacek okay,
Strike Magazine – check it out, maybe subscribe. Need something
softer under my bare arse. Where was I? Coffee and fag.
July 25, 2013
Sleeping Fish
There are yellowfish
crying out
for a poach.
We approach seven.
It is evening:
drinks on the patio,
freewheeling banter, laughs , and snacks.
Tapas lovingly prepared.
The lugubrious air
memories of summers past.
Dreamtime in a word.
The smoked haddock will stop yelling soon.
Green or black olives, Daphne?
Are they pitted?
By my fair hand.
You are the one, aren’t you…What’s that sound?
Fish snoring.
Tee-hee-hee…
July 25, 2013
5:15
Was that me for a moment?
The gardens soaking.
The slugs are sliming…
Get yourself in the moment!
The day is dawning
The heat is rising
Make some tea in a moment.
…night without dreams – I bet I had some.
sheet’s on the floor – mattress peeping.
Cockerel is crowing – wants some feeding.
Shipping forecast – possibly later…
Sit in dark with daylight growing,
waiting around for the morning news.
Chill on my legs as I make a Rollie
Looking for symptoms of the flu
Casual thought about making coffee.
More Mary-Ann with the shaky hand.
Stand up, sit down – issue a moan.
Pull the curtains – must do the lawn.
Have a wee-wee – or have I been?
Faffing about since the clock read 5:15…
July 24, 2013
Heel
Yesterday plus one
damp smell of seventies
porn mag, black and white,
thick minged,
Titbits or Parade,
lawn and hedge,
put it back where you found it:
a secret.
Stealthy wanks and aloof strops conceal
the pull and then sulky sleep,
complex born.
Delivered by a bald man from Parslow’s
who looked like a parrot,
or that comedian who made a film with a parrot,
lantern jawed, sort of Stanley Holloway,
that time anyway.
We move into different times of Happy Door
writing down the football scores
in a Woolworth red notebook
and very erudite
but for the greasy skin and hair
and the Bri-nylon shirt:
withered upturned orange collar,
second hand jacket that was always too big:
still is.
Pink salmon trousers for smart
made me look and feel like a dork,
perhaps I was!
Do not let on or you’ve had it,
there will be retribution and bullying
far worse than ever known in the history of me.
Join gangs,
walk hard and hide
clever bully,
ideas man,
dirty rec,
silly temptress with Goldie locks,
the smell of sweet wee-wee.
Bowled him!
Over
July 24, 2013
Road to Tad
Tarmac patch water tower
wood stump clearing dip
and two
little double roundabouts,
flat binocular
white nipples
sullied by tyre smear,
skids, and fast
turning people
rushing to the bomb
plant past gypsy site,
through wood and common bends
and twists and dents
to the Falcon’s nest…
July 24, 2013
Mornlight Drive
A blind, dead driver
in front
slows and
indicates all options
before a left at the lights opposite
a set sun of cheap stuff
and loss leaders
that call the believers
and sinners to shop.
July 23, 2013
Breakfast at Knobbly Knees
Late sultry night and nearly sultry morning.
DODI? More royal dross, oozy does it,
nice & oozy.
Hot & Cold liquid. Door?
Scratch? Make enquiries without.
PC Pigeon, Flying Squad, scratching around
like Inspector Hound – more of a sniffer who likes a snorter.
Barmy cops the blame for littering path.
Does his bit, Hound.
Slowly make drinks of coffee and codeine,
think food: rashers possible. Go get it together:
fill kettle, don kaftan, open door
(already did that above).
Verses! Form and content.
Wrestling with Flowers:
let it flow out, only drips from an empty tap.
Sticky so shower laters.
Gutpowder arrives; cause celebre to
noisy gobsloth to be centre of attention:
failed and fucked off!
Trappism recommenced at 10:45.
Start to detox tomorrow; fancy a sausage!
Quite peckish, yesterday’s heat mostlike;
thunder earlier; food is good. Sausages on: pollop shopping;
feeling flat, food and incantation desired;
crock steady, one day at a time sweet nexus.
Sharpen up with a shower, kick out the jams…
Note a relapse to ultra-brevity,
so often happens when fractious, hereshow:
skirting the zone, hit and run prowler.
Regard the Fearstalker
See the pushy, nagging whippet.
Grimbeau 