Grimbeau

Scroodles

Category: Postcards from Today

July 31, 2018

Catatonia

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Python
Who will be King of the Mountain?
The spurts and dramatic surges
come fast and furious
from behind the drunken camera,
red mist clouds mingle
obscure a bloated moonlit summit—
unclenched by rarefied daylight hours,
curtains pulled on damp khaki trousers
forelawn it lies the grasses billow,
a potted pear tree is quick felled,

Provenance: grown from seed
by lusty Cecelia it now lolls
flopped on the worn out bird table.
Nasty shock on awaits some
due to freakish start— bowels unmoved,
face unshaven, body stale as bread.
Suffered well earnt defeat on the board
snapped mixing with lower portholes—

that going over last night lingers, brushed aside
like the fly I brushed away
at the top of the knock off swelter
of my fish supper two days back now.
Who will be the king of the world—
not I today, not me.
too smart for the likes of me
stuck up a churchyard yew tree naked
as a birdman trying to figure out where
it all went so very wrong again — put it gown
to the form of the day birdbrain

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July 14, 2018

It’s Coming Home

2 66 15.jpg

 

Beer to throw up like
In the air & beer to drink
First half, piss call, second half,
Butt wall, third half crawl slowly
Back underground with the turnips
Sobbing sullen soft cell walls we hiss
dripping sober sticky sweat to lick…

door-gell tolls the knell of passing beast
spyrings crop circles short
some verve agents slip away in junky night
thicko suspect plots and trails of vapour cloud
reveal encrypted tissues scrunched up in balls
streaming skies twinkle like aluminium foil:
Watch Window as it falls to earth

—Such thoughts for one so young, Ickle Star, she tuckles and hurrums, baritine chesty undertones of beargrowl
—Gigglchips! Giggle ships chuckled laughing at dada gurgling waterspouse

~

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July 13, 2018

Ghost Particle

Trying to zone in on Zagreb,
get a grip any old grip-grip
tune in to Helvetia be rid of
profound, turbulent accidie.
–Oh yes indeed this one never sleeps
Nor toils nor spinning jennies
~

Office workers faraway eyes
Peeping out marmosttishly
Behind doors, curtained windows,
banks of giant screams
remember the Eye of Horus
halting the Aeneid in full flow
‘Take moi pronto to your Leda,
I come to cook a goosey-gander!’
Beer to throw & beer to drink
First half, piss call, second half,
Hit wall, crawl slowly
Away to extra time
Sobbing behind soft cell walls

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July 9, 2018

Turdrum

hector with thistles

 

Just you and me then
Two faces pressed on flax
Punchy—
Can’t see straight
contorted by parallax
panoptical contusions
other big words like turd

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June 8, 2018

Trainspotting in Lancaster

Petrarch brushes it off as a crime against girl power
Usurpation cry seemly boudoirs
Tomatos grow on antler vines,
soaps declaim post breakfeast songs,
loud grunts and bellows signal gripe,
can you hear me calling Lysistrata?
Fancy a bit of How’s Yer Father?
What? Still in short trousers, Boris?
Frankie goes to Holyrood pipes up
Two tribes tops the cuddly pup
—Either he or the wallpaper must go
Says an Eskimo to Mr Penguin
as Chelsea Flower Show gives in to
Friday afternoon monsoon

My computer is corrupt!
Binary alliteration kills my flabby mind—
threw away the queen in the middle of a fugue—
finished up the leftovers (left her half for old times’ sake)—
otherwise the dog gets it—no pressure there then—
unintended consequences are pro bono publicum—
see that one with bells on?
Take it off above the knee!
Pray me what’s afoot?
About half a litre last I looked

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June 1, 2018

Snopes

 

Irrupts surge in rent
open permanent up torrent
firmament redundant bluff
abundance waits on
thunderstorms to pass fast
judgement is found remorseless
for thrall the best
in the sparseness of time immemorialised by fleeting potwallopers .
Yipes! William Faulkner and 1244, decorative Gothic meets the peer plan
documentary hungry for knowledge to feed enfeeble headtones
after Danish pastry pig out.
Ooo that falling wall,
claxon sounds, run like buggery,
watch out for falling scaffold, crumbling masonry, she’s going,
timbers creak, buttresses flying solo, gargoyles bite the dust,
a great levelling has its ups and downs as well as highs and lows,
be carefree what you wish for,
be not so dour nuncle,
there’s fuck all left for you here.
~
Hit the road Jerk,
and dontya come back no more, No more. There’s a thought. No more.
Put that in your Pope and smirk it.
Get you over the hump it will.
The hump? Figure of bad posturing breeds Hump.
Son of Grunt and Thump, mate of Drug and Slump,
came out like frog up pump, ended up with frump.
Semi precious Rump
~

Some rain we had while shrivelled up eating chunky cheeseburgers,
water was flooding down the hill no doubt.
Emergency traffic lights installed—intrepids in waders stride out.
Tractors Hydroplaning nowhere fast.
Inconvenient to basking water buffalo, Joe. What’s it about?
Four afternoons. After the clouds burst.
Out in torrents Choirboys cast off the yolk in raucous broken vocals.
Elderflower winos.
Caught out between showers.
Call to adventure.
~
Put me in a home alone. Chide me not for fumbling. A room with a not you in it.
insisting be nice or we’ll ignore you,
leave you to stew in your juice until
you learn to please and thank the lord.
No second childhood here luv
—old age stinks to high heaven.
Thanks but no thanks very much.
Count your hidden pills. Consult the almanac.
Last day of May. Off with the clout.
World cup and Wimbledon make it all worthwhile somehow.
Jackdaws drop sticks down chimney pots.
Now where did Mabel leave that shotgun?

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May 22, 2018

small flying things

observe him shuffling in the morning sun in t-shirt and fag pocked boxers, shambling about in a battered panama feeling better he says

half and hour’s worth of washing up and hoovering upstairs and a break before a shower and some evening sunshine if it stays he says

looking at old doodles in notebooks full of portraits of despair and dishonesty it was much worse than words could ever in themselves he says

renascent caesarean section moment of involuntary entry into a world full of priests overheard from the womb giving up last unction he says

orphans fear having orphans eggs the holy man would tell us and that kissing made you pregnant before marriage but never tell a soul he says

the sound of that wry dry chuckle was common in ancient Mesopotania when sex went on for six days and six nights without a sign of slowing down he says

strand long empty strand giant crisp bag onrush don’t push me coz I’m close to the hedge down by the river endorphine surge of reveries to come he says

 

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May 5, 2018

nothing personal

O'Morse where art thou

 

friends and family (that’s those of you who remember who you are) understand reasons prevent one from saying that much just in case word gets used for evil instead of good out

act your shoe size not your age in post imperialist measures playing sundials in the garden with your appendages made erect by shuttlecock & battledore found in last year’s box

Ambridge anal Ithaka ate my hamster, hiccuped, endured a bilious attack and became an ecstasy of mumbles, drifting like the finest snow on the frozen inland seas, stargazy mackerel make the best of it

we dreamt of pasties with a light brown crust running through the meadow pursued by litigants with fine mesh nets & insurmountable debts and nothing much to brandish to Scythia

 

 

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April 8, 2018

Ploughed Cuckoo Land

every morning while I’m
jumping up and down
I scream out names of
those I wish good luck to.
do any of them happen to live with me,
in the same flat, house, bijou hovel
the same shanty town,
sewer, shop doorway, aqueduct,
inflammable dirigible, barbed wire mosspot,
slice they cucumber, lick they icicles…?
Or is it someone who aint got up,
left their shit bang smack in your way,
left the bog seat up, snores like a drain in the gutter,
had their cake & ate it intravenously,
talks endless pompous psychobabble…
No?
How very surprising.

time for press-Ups & A
Jog to old Sarky-Poohs for pot noodle, aphrodisiac,
and jellied eels on blancmange before a
long day at the orifice counting ducks…

 

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April 7, 2018

lushlines sounds good…

speedo


starts up in minor
malingers idly with intent
gives way to bullshit
Shipton pulls it off again
makes good angry afternoon
pink blossoms made visible
spittoons bite the dust
discover plastic bags under wild forsythia
where has the goldfish gone
answers to the name of Justine
gentler than a man
should you give a damn...
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