Wild, Wild Night
Crisp white linen sheets
on the hill
cracked and billowed
on the line
Stark wild clouds
flee eastward.
Wry, cow-towing
pines obey the storm
under the window,
under the pink drapes
Whimsy murmurs:
Rowan will Live.
Grimbeau
Scroodles
Category: writing
February 14, 2014
Largesse
The fruit of my labour
so far today
Sits over in a
Modest plastic bag
Amidst other items,
It is well
out-of-the-way,
conveniently
located.
‘Shifting Metaphor’ the bag reads,
inscribed
in very gooseberry green above
The
Iconic bitten fruit (an apple?).
A wasp draft flicks it,
it tumbles giddily and
comes to rest
On a too full
smudged yellow
pedal bin,
I explode
My fruits are strewn
all
over the scintillating,
brick-red non-slip
Linoleum.
Howling now
I watch them perish,
wither and vanish,
delight
full tiny
Twinkles
Marasmus done
the voided quasars
dance quick,
nimble polkas to dash
the conic lampshade
So,
like Orgones
and
reason do –
We Sleep
February 13, 2014
Anywherewithal
Demi-stool on Piddle, flushed out, so now bathe
Soily scaly paws. Smite it! By my gum,
perfumed ovoid amber tablet glued to basin shock.
Rubbed it long nice & hard by flannel for
blotch and crud scrub of digit, knuckle and palm.
Knuckle and nickel? Puckle the pickle of muckle,
Sterling winkles, no bawbees. Groat Scottie!
No wonga, not none. Yaboo-sucks states slimy,
Snide curling chippy poundwinker toffboy.
February 12, 2014
The Golden Age of Scuba
Happy is the man who can bear the things he cannot change – Schiller
Each time insurgent
Wind surges spank opulent
crimson drapes and naughty
gusts arouse dormant
gooseberries on exposed,
soft wanton thighs all sigh
Lush,
chocolate ground juice
breaches ripe knapsacks,
glibly squirting,
soiling deep plush pile rug.
On
garish cushions we float maculate:
spoiled flotsam; jetsam of anarchy,
Two headed orphans
scowling quadrophrenes
brazen twisted Sisters scream.
February 7, 2014
Skinwatch
Carbuncles, moles, tumescensces,
spots, scar tissue, warts, blackheads, scabs,
bubos, boils, and bruises…the rest is blistery.
February 5, 2014
Back Seat Driver
Dare, go on dare, do some work!
Teetering on the brink, uh.
Watching the kitchen sink.
Go on and do some work.
But…
there’s the pain, and the weather,
and the tories, and those socks, the dog,
and the…Shut up and do some work.
February 5, 2014
Moniker Called By…
Chatting small, enduring twaddle and passing comment on the news,
the wonderful weather, Ents and death trances, and
recent sightings of drunken old muckers puking on poodles
Every so often there are smartphone snapshots of dormant pets,
a dinner dance after a few, a flying saucer over Tesco’s,
the paddling pool in the back garden, and some baby humans.
During tales of goings-on in times past, the clock is seen, nattering over.
Down to brass tacks: hoovering, bed-making, tidying, graft, filling in forms.
Today I am torn between Albert Camus or Kermit the Frog: I sign ‘Dean Martin.’
February 5, 2014
Agony is…
…real but invisible,
defined but uncertain,
yesterday and tomorrow.
For forever and a day.
The sheer never, never,
Neverendishnessness…
…And you, fellow sucker,
And me over here, shallow fucker,
bob about in these
shark-infested waters,
Quints ready for the taking,
Bamboos and rubber Treeplants.
February 4, 2014
Secret Squirrel
Some people work
for a living.
I write…
Sometomes.
February 4, 2014
Prandial Snooze
Our Zero is back.
Huzzah, huzzah…
Back triumphantly from Nodl,
festooned with laurels,
plaudits,
smelling of spring fresh mint and lavender thongs.
– Have a cigar!
– Thunk yew muchly…
Don’t tow:
Shell.
Wish like new comer: wash like an old comer
…say lurvee, say lurgair.
Life’s so unfair.
Weeps lots.
Drugstime;
coffee two.
Get down, hep kat!
Pickled pumpkin head in a Pipkin!
Whatever will they think of nexty next…
jugged hair, lungs tongues in arsenic, potted wimp?
Grimbeau 