When I take the air and roam
the tombstones and monuments
the iron door clicks ajar –
the cycle is complete.
Only now the air is sound
is it safe to do the rounds.
When I check the last twitch,
the most challenging flitch,
the one at the top
of the heap grips the grill.
A zither plays loud mad brash.
I pull my sword and euthanize him.
Then & only then the loading can commence…
Here comes the sun to have a laugh,
a snigger, a check it out, a gloat at
little lives playing themselves out in safe,
unhappy scripts:
polishing, dusting, painting crypts.
Rolling tiffs, thinking cliffs, wind blowing quiffs,
In skipper’s beards, fucking weird.
And I sit in judgement. How fucking weird is that?
Grey paint is my usual,
matted not glossed,
ruffled and talced
certainly not groomed
by Governess Pecheur.
Her mild odour
Cologne and cat nip
perverts my lust for
kedgeree and fauve cheeses
Purple sloping Wonderfield
Bog cattle hugging below
Sat like the statue thinking
Halfway up on a blasted stump
Beneath a humming pylon
Beside a scruffy gorse
Sits a painted horse
Myrtle twizzling track
Made respectable by
Tarmac and white strips
Desiccated coconut flakes
Magnolia and cherry blossom
Windblown dusting cows snouts
Makes them shuffle, snort in concert
Painted horse sneezes along aloof
So we cut the abstract,
not like light or mayhem
See that, I missed it too
Perhaps it…no
Don’t fall for that
Luxury
Turn off the light.
Shan’t see now
Angels
This is you and me
Once immediate
Like a memory
Of
Important lightning
Rain, sultry rain.
Opaque grapes,
leaden sky fruit,
burst on copious,
oil dark
plush olive,
swooning,
spaded,
luscious leaves.
Three chirrup
kaleidoscope toucans
tenderly engage
a dopey puffin then
hunker down within
the livid dense canopy
to share a light
repast of slender wafers
over a convivial round
of knock out whist.
Tuesdays,
no matter the weather,
is Housey-Housey,
a rainforest favourite
throughout the ages.
Beastlings from yards
Around always
Attend
Lunch upon
time used
every second
fecund
Sporting matching
bonnet and black, baggy
jumper.
Sweaty, seedy boxers,
and fresh Homer slippers.
Ready for inaction.
Frost
promised,
don elastic
cotton vambrace,
the day begins.
Grimbeau 