We’ll begin at midnight
When you have time you have liberty
Apollinaire
Noon & Nixpence
Meagre sleep
in tranceful, graceles woe,
pursued by evil minded lambs,
surrounded by the hurt and hapless.
These things I sink below,
subsumed in dread.
This is the blue blue blues:
heavy fug,
turn world upside down,
shake it down.
dandruff and wonga sprinkle
earth skin, cluster and choke.
Bad air day.
Solace: not alone.
United we sit,
divided we lie.
Clouds sure foreground
Dark and light:
Everchanging
Outwith night
Enabled, moonless
Mountebanks
Sticklers, wreckers, hoods
Eat bread & drip
Dry
A good evening
all in all.
Neither short
nor tall.
Just right.
Like
Spaniel ears
Or
Tapwater
Just picture
Over there
In that corner
A grand piano
Made of Blood
Fresh Olive
Slaughtered
Beachboys
Surly, vexed, mumbling, bumbling,
swallowing down bile and spleen
a small bird hops past on the sill!
A fair coin tossed.
Whist!
A farced chant, grumbling like an alp.
Shannon mare dream
Shrill oboe scream:
Hector! Hold your horses.
The kettle’s finished boiling.
The past will someday
be the same again.
Let us
Lay.
Is Samarkand
Pink Samarkand
Under those dishes?
There!
I see
golden onion domes,
rippled & various,
Serrate deep blue.
Above
Kites float
perusing plump shrew
on perfect thermals,
circling empty biplanes
She
Yellow
Cowled, pock-marked
Pale chuff faced,
Sidles,
Stumbles
Ghostly
Inside Chapel Cell,
Her Holy hidey-hole,
Up the duff,
recently gin & needled
She
dropped like a sock,
and in that drop got
relegated,
denigrated,
emasculated from Herstory,
babeless scrawl on nameless wall.
No net
you see:
no more net
Nanette.
Shoulder roller
Savonarola
swimming backwards
In shirt infested waters.
Pause for Jaws:
Basking post-prandial,
Replete of:
Bellyful of Quint,
skinny dipper,
Stray Daytripper,
clumsy nipper.
My luck is in!
Time to try
Some butterfly
The power set at constant max
Mind’s Eye emerges from start surge to
pure pace
A golden arrow flashes darting past.
Lee J Cobb. Wrong Cobb. Donald?
No, that was Campbell.
Google it, live & learn.
Pull the search engine up,
load it with a boulder, wind it up, and release.
Downwind we hear
no screams or impact
As if it never happened
After Sylvester evensong, Loyola piped up:
‘Out with the Pianola!’
And
(As Nasturtiums have for donkey’s years)
We were ready to kick out the jambs
The Easter Lambs & heaven could wait a quarter
Priscilla the Pig, our Abbot, dressed as Emile Zola
Got the ball rolling with the much lauded Tombola.
A fine thing, like some tradition,
The Tombola of the Tropaeolum:
We put our Bull into a hat
Pull out the winner
And a new year
Doctrine is chosen
A fresh true rumour
To add to the credo
This is followed by
A game of sardines
An eternal favourite
Grimbeau 