Occasional grunts
One small dish bonito fish
Ink stone sand paper
Pink tarn volcanic ice cream
Flesh trout stream water
Quenches thirsty fire river
Comes another bloody liar
RefdueRhEreNdumMahbeNdereefUrMumerrFerendeRedmudD…
Is that a second (2nd)cousin at a table in a caFé on tHe teLly-full EnGlish diSh?
Could be—could well be, mind you…
Bin men flit in white blur elipse
‘…electoral commissariat invocated…’
ImMortal c(w)ombat gobshitEs
PowEr (fUr) Good kNot Evil doO-doEs
BooBy is coLd oubt-sidE
Woman of heart and mind you
There’s a bright golden
Hose on the meadow faucet
Sprinkle-sprink-Sprinkle
WC Fields
Lava Tory water meadows
Pastures of Plenty
Sprinkle-sprinkle little star
Four five six seven eight nine
Ten bottles of gin
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
A certain comic quality
pervades this morning’s naff despair—
fed parasitic fear its irregular bowl of oats, chill milk & mandolin banana after falling fast asleep in my dressing gown
being overly mindful of insatiable time— had a taste of dangerous society overnight and came out the worst of it.
Then I read this:
In my room the world is beyond my understanding;
But when I walk I see that it consists of three or four hills and a
Cloud—
Starling rest room words
Embossed on chivalric shields
whose Survivor Guilt glimmers, glints
Spangles, sparkles, twinkles
In the eyes of the thousand nights
Spent wrestling with myself
Legless on a hospital bed
Grave Achilles sat
blissfully darning bed socks for victims of his inexplicable mood swings—
a timely encounter downunder thus helped forge
the great shape of thingness
for shrewd Ulysses’ war eyes sparkled to behold·
on seeing this Achilles carped the diem & told this glum mucker that life beats death hands
down no worries mush
Tummy warming stuff
on this wet day in Maida Vale inside a humming bird’s ear
sipping whalebone bisque before an aboriginal public—
noble stuff indeedy poohs·
however mud sticks regardless take the point
on board & suck on it to extract epic sangine juices
lick lips
breathe a deep sigh without
ever knowing it
What came next was cruciating pain
Inexplicable as always—how many times can you leave home
without your keys till they finally write you off for dead?
Too many cheeseburgers, the certificate said
(one a day for eleven years) takes its toll
of a semi-god let alone the rest
even though they have a voice best ignore it all now
thanks for dropping by yours truly
An audible gasp echoed the Cypress
But looky there!
The creased up
scrunchings of crumpled egos orbit
the waste paper bin with my name on it
call me Mister No-One Much and you may have
a nasty shock in store, piped up Guess Who from inside an igloo
in modern Timbuktu
—By gum, some said, we thought the poor old sod was dead
—Perhaps he is, said Cheese on Toast,
leaning idly on a post
Be—boo—peek—a—bubos!
Hush sshwept clean fresh brush aside cum summit stalks— made history well history; how phew light years tearswell up as nowcently· crookery nook handshook up a well bent gee gnome
Lamasery shrub gourds fetch mad tricorn branchlines con left blue eye, sprink cosmetico silver outliner pindrip, touch jet black jack skellington taboo; soul rescued rondo fallen tree gnome
Pong from gnome splat leafy tartarus; greebo grunt hoed slug path smudge clingy soddoss ape yuck; tory uppy calendula snakesteam gorgons seep pale lightless green as kidsnot jest plane gnome
herding east on sum yums shunset; big black birdiess sweep up behind the trapeze awe soma kinda flushdump rafter gardenspoiler done up; enacted twilight morning cum torpor gnome
twixt vexed cringes syringes and plasma money jabs pimple oohs and ah-ahsoles. Dreamboaterer droopy wily doldrum torp grooms up day wit awe struck long lost cod almighty gnome
Po—u—idyll— tong-—yinnies!
The Phoney War on Slapstick Ends
Times like this began with Field Marshal Approval in deep hotchpotch jaw-jaw back of Nico’s bar and grill with the clam-baked mongrel hoc polloi baying with piercing snake eyes
‘Better late than never’, sighed swan necked Frieda Sluggish flicking though a growing stack of IOU and billet doux. Silhouetted against the bleak midwinter skyline it all appeared quite plausible to he adjutant steady bogus Chad, whose tab fetish was the talk of the mobsters lounge.
‘Flower sales sank to an all-time low—O’Bannion’s gotta magpie coming uphis way if things do not pick up by Valentine’s Day’, said Doggerel Dom in matching gown and crozier.
Hosiery was ever a cut-throat trade; less a game of football and more a matter of life and debt. Smart plague dogs knew that much as they did their rounds of the loose limbed irony that littered the sidewalks of Oblivion.
‘This place reeks of optimism—check out the Assassin’s Diary for March & see if their booked out for The Ides’, said Bonzo to Gnasher, who never questioned hors d’hoeuvres on Main Street.
Simultaneously elsewhere times they were changing too. Perhaps Slow-Slow-Quick-Quick-Slow was the way of it after all conceded Louis the Song & Dance…
If evidence were necessary the characters froze halfway through what they were doing next and the room filled with a still putrid neutral silence, which you must find uneery or refute. Indeed the rumpus next door in the greenhouse made it all but impossible to focus at all. Our friends remained unmoved showing no a flicker of mere awareness.
Time it seemed was indeed up. Keys echoed in the corridor. They had a life of their own as well to live, you know.
Dignam reminded me in a roundabout way about the awfulmess that lies hidden beneath frozen graveyards, through with fingering his square jawed, jowly lopsided mug. I froze.
The sheer scale of human misery is as incomprehensible as the time spade continuum and defies common sense data and picture theories of life inside. I shiver mindful of the gap
Fussgonheim read the legend
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
The things you can do without an electronic typewriter
humble simple me—
yet the holy purpley babbling brook has been enclosed
in fancy fuzzfeed—
there is a kiosk where they strip search you & sell you
stuff you know you need, for example a goat follows
you up and you follow it round in ever creasing circles
until pop goes the
weasel and you are the prey for today—
why I didn’t give up writing was the river
it went elsewhere to an unpolluted
secret silent sea of air
beyond the fetid clouds
emitted in the form of toxic lemon drops
a way above the chimney tops which was where you found me
Shirtless people got no season to forgive…
Forge me fresh iron gloves conceal dainty awesome hands
dwell snide outside of town & gown
& horsey country mind settees,
our ward young Toby thrived with Chinese knives instead.
Secret Agent one day; Detectorist the next—both found dead
Then came big break evil Asian confectioner caught
stark bollock naked without socks
onstage in a theatre that never shut—
St Simeon’s inrage thus inspires high hopes
in hapless giant hogweeds eaves
Sleep up high on the motley jonquil hog agenda —
lost generation chess records
put XTC to the plough & harrow—
take cream cakes & comfrey gourd
nuncle carbuncle cure all—
go to the foot of your stoney stairwells—Look up!
And see Boss Bhagwan Ayatollah Lip Gloss spreading such admirable disgust
We must see him rocking now in tiresome indifferent light—
post war on boredom trilogy
where an invisible man sees the disappeared
hobbling bent reflection in the right wing mirror of a runaway truck
and
like spotless old leopards
hid in mustard cress
fails to impress
—only yesterday’s child waved back it is said
before restive time dragged it away like a hassled mother
to the nursery aware that unanswered waves savage the tardy—
try hard to get over it with short enticing books
timer set to last one hour including adverts
or
shorter still fifty minute therapy
—books where the work happens in the outrageous transfer fee—
pre-defenistration Guy looks more beat than hippy sheik—
Cannes film festival held on ice, next time water
down the rusty Rhine if the goblin cats allow unlucky days
old shapes reform as cuticles
ascension day bereavement—myths of evening airspace—until the next time should we be spared this broken nail—stagflation or stagnation
know your limits! Six years old am I naked on a hillside cloud watching on my back a man approached with a cough I grabbed my duds and snook away sharpish
Forge me fresh iron gloves conceal dainty awesome hands
dwell snide outside of town & gown
& horsey country mindsettees,
our young Toby thrived with chinese knives instead.
Secret Agent one day; Detectorist the next
big break evil Asian confectioner caught
stark bollock naked
onstage in a theatre that never shut—
St Simeon’s inrage inspires high hopes
in hapless giant hogweeds
Sleep up high on the motley jonquil hog agenda —
lost generation chess
put XTC to the plough—
take cream cakes & comfrey
nuncle carbuncle cure all—
go to the foot of your stoney stairwells—Look up!
Boss Ayatollah Lip Gloss spreads such admirable disgust
we see him rocking now in tiresome indifferent light—
post war on boredom now
where an invisible man sees the disappeared
hobbling bent reflection in the right wing mirror
and
like spotless old leopards
hides in mustard cress
—only yesterday’s child waved back
before time dragged it away like a late mother
to the nursery aware unanswered waves disintegrate insiders—
try hard to get over it with short enticing books
timer set to last one hour including adverts
or
shorter still fifty minute therapy
—books where the work happens in the outrageous transfer fee—
pre-defenestration Guy looks more beat than hippy sheik—
Cannes film festival held on ice, next time
down the rusty Rhine if the goblin cats allow unlucky days
