pianissimo
light touches
on the keys
we cannot hear writing,
see sound,
smell light, touch
metaphor:
and you can imagine
what it
would be like
when you write it down
pianissimo.
Emoticon mon amour;
hepatitis or occidental?
Happy, toothy, smiler.
Loner, mon anomie;
hypothermia or
stained glass widow?
Sad, thin faced, woebegone.
Flicking through messages
Waiting for the train
A carriage full of angry
Flashes past delayed
by water buffalo
‘…there he was sat, bold as brass, plain as day,
stone deadpan serious, as if he was my judge.
I ask you!
Bulling on about ‘the great doings & dones’
sounding like a brat bragging about
the darning of the sacred
socks of Nemesis… ‘
In short, one may conclude,
a blow by blow account
of how wind gets out the bag:
why the turtle turns turtle,
and the attributes of the perfect carrot.
It was to his credit that he chose
to demean himself to
the baying hordedlavishers
that dwelt upon every word ,
as if, perhaps, they were his last,
and,
that they would get a mention in the will,
despatches, or the mind of God,
his father,
who was in heaven-by-the sea.
‘…By gum, though, he sported lovely, kind, peepers
and one of those whimsical smiles
that always give you a tingle in the dingle.
Herdsman, craftsman, tradesman
it does not matter a bit.
Once you have the twinge you’re gone…’
Apparently, he was also handy with a band saw and spoke shave.
‘…Jesus! He could come smooth me anytime he fancied a touch of craft work. Have a bit of fun, fun, fun on my autobahn.’
Showered the bloated, glabrous, noisome oxen;
descended, short of breath, to a cleaner pit
to heft pots of beans, defrost a halved slab
of gauche bread, fainted in a serviette, came
to in a perfumed tea tree enveloped in tune
to Donne claiming he’d also given the sun
a run for its money through a wrought iron gate
Ruth shot brute crude sooth
Affable fey leviathan
Always short of breath
Panting on hot diaphragm
Fit to bust the cursed nurse
Green balloon plummets
Petrified screeches
Thud, thud, thud, whoosh, bang
We ran toward it
The scene unfolded
Before we knew it
The horse had bolted
The sun shone easy
Televisions repeated
Interesting sutures
Nothing moved until…
A voice rang out clear:
‘Come in #48, time’s up!’
Wrong kind this torquoise?
How fussy is that overheard
Crossword puzzle
‘Hey, do not play the giddy ox!
You are messing about there
With poetic forms’
‘Yes,’
I replied ripping silk
Joey Hollywood
Sounding exasperated
Perpetrated
A modest violent act
On a passer-by
Grimbeau 