Dance Macabre
Five Two Ten…
Jaunty Jolly Waltz
gone weird
Khachaturian Masquerade Suite
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Five Two Ten…
Jaunty Jolly Waltz
gone weird
Khachaturian Masquerade Suite
Two keen school kids,
brother straggling
behind sensible sister,
go back to school
after summer hols.
~
A tired car door thuds
early for the nursery.
Old Madge pulls her
blinds wide open,
gazes maculate
~
On a new fall day,
turn turkey
on the dreary
daytime wireless.
~
Nettles surge: lilac droops.
A grey snail embeds on
the warm west window.
Syrians cycle
Through dripping Lapland.
~
Thyme and Rosemary
resoud in pots:
O’six, o’seven , o’eight…
O’nine keen as mustard
Come Mithra Shine.
Day began in dark
at five with roll-ups
and reheated coffee
radio news of butcher birds,
seasonal badger culls,
the lighting of a candle
forgotten prayers
sea weather prophecies
~
The light of day found
me playing pinball
biding time for the right
moment to unload
before hard labour
breaking feet in smokey rooms
lurching haplessly
between ashtray and crucible
It is the evening of the day…
hungry and thirsty I wait
on Junk Food & Spurious receipts.
What no paper money!
Oh My God!
A Bank Holiday
On other people’s
Misery
That’s All Folks!
Heed the Migrant
refugees
One for you
&
One for me
Oh!
how happy
We shall be
Come
The
spreading
Migrant tree
An irkstacy oeuf jumbles
Gyges’s Knitty-knotty knot
Mad unravelled oakum-pokum
Squirrels mate via screensaver
The August Bank Hillbilly Farce
Weekend descending apace
Poem posted, home alone, drinks at three
with Little Me
and my charming, closest, confidantes
Myself and I
Panto tuna lute
open gee gnomic
ale eminent tory heir gone
tomorrow sorrow scars
Desultory smoulder
Pine cones gloaming wormcast
Seashell hermit crabs
Grumble gruesome gulls gambol
Shirtless maggots candy floss
straw fedora hats
Buttons elopes with Blue moon
Sickert sicks up cockles
Muscles lifts bar belles
St. Trinian’s run riot
Beside the seaside
Beside the sea
‘Weatherwise it’s
Dustpan ugly day…’
*
Found enlightenment
in sunshine running
a soap oratario
a sudden inlook
at the parts I play
in the loneliness yarn.
*
From Buddha to Alhasfa
Dillinger to Jesus
Costume changes.
And So do yours.
How fucking mad is it to
think that we are all
characters at play!
*
Shoot! That went quick
One moment conversation
Then it’s Old Beijing
Full of shit and twigs
Two thousand and eight
Was a good year for Birdnests
Weirdos,
acid casualties,
a-minor people,
hanging off
the Phalange,
stuck in gunge,
malingering & snivelling
by the out pipe,
doing the what the fucks and who am I’s.
Can you hear me?
Grimbeau 