Grimbeau

Scroodles

Category: writing

Smitten Kitten

 

stargazy

Stargazy cow pies

Here comes long night to

Foreshortened solstice day.

Burnham Wood to Dunsinane again.

Escape to wet room while stocks last?

Suck the carpet beat the doormats.

Sock cloth and pastiche.

O my damaged brain!

Wherefore art though cameo?

Keeping down appearances to a bare minimum.

Let it flow, Jojo.

The man is at the chores.

Being the son of a bitch.

Yappy mucky pup.

Hard wired downcast.

Upbeat positivity.

Pass the spare sickbag.

Ash trees on airwaves.

Pictures of kittens

Smitten

Rift

Rivers flow uphill

Taking the easy way out

The unbearable Loch Ness

Of Being timeless

Slip into the same river

Once upon a corrack

Fishing for compliments

Nearly caught a coy carp

Another one that got away

All alone in a cold world

Poor neglected child

Just like all the rest

Just like all the rest

so the river flows

 

Silly Trumpet

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Pylons crave winter

Straddling desolate vistas

Steely conveyors

Nice and gentle girder

Joycean credential

Consequential sentimental

Do the Strander

Smoot

Amyl

Talk is of Kali

Eleven hour candle says nine

Suddenly snuffed it

Solitude is loneliness

Without persistent bullshit

Pests

old-photo-by-trellis

In a hurricane lagoon

festooned by small flying things

concerned onlookers

fluster on the windswept beach

call emergency services

in case it’s a grand mal fit.

From Rags to Riches

220px-Desnos

Dragged up on the mean

streets of  Much Wenloch, Salop:

orphaned at an early age

& entombed on death row by four

after eating his grandma!

Yes, indeed, Neil Armstrong was

an unlikely candidate

to become the first man

on the moon.

a modest man with a lot to be modest about,

petty criminal with cannibalistic tendencies.

Till fortune propelled him

into a life of

galactic celebrity,

when,

holed up in a shotgun shack after

an abortive raid

on Dade County Police Dept

to release Jim Morrison,

he was abducted by NASA

& sent,

kicking and screaming,

into outer space.

His last words ‘Goldfish Mandelbrot’ are typical of the man:

succinct yet charming,

dark yet illuminating.

We shall never see his like again.

Petrichor

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Nose down.

The Saint woke

nose down in a wood:

in a

a vast, dank wood.

Beeches & brambles.

He got up,

raised a knowing eyebrow,

and licked mulch from his

granite chiselled chin.

Petrichor,

he concluded wryly

This is not Here

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Slow slows slowly halts

sighs resumes forgets restarts

half-heartedly gazes

into empty toxic spaces

once full of hearts and flowers

twilight fading hour

just before three-thirty

worry not your knotty head

the lice who’ve just gone off to bed

won’t surface till eight-thirty

Midnight Lamp

Midnight Lamp

you can’t turn it on

and off like a water tap

or light switch can you

Clemency

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Bleak midwinter light

Flowers bloom trees without leaves

Labile distortions