Most every dusk
I am obliged
To check
the lobster pots
fourteen crooked
steps
(there are rusted
Wobbly rails)
Most nights zilch
However
Sometimes
In the lapping
Crouched desperate
Grey as granite
In favoured splash
One is caught,
Trapped
In time by tide
blue shed
Door
blows
open…
blue shed
Door
blows
closed…
Extermination Squad
In
Utah
Clean out
Of
Final Solution
Sunny spells and gormless showers may pop-up,
Sure,
who knows what to expect?
Scattered,
varied temperatures throughout and persistent.
Staggered,
Meteorolological incertitudinals
Mindboggling,
The algorhythm of the Boolean
Windmaker
Hungry bard.
Tub of lard.
Ate the Shard
& Gherkin.
PC Mod.
Lazy sod.
Missed him.
He was shirkin’.
He threw the telly out the window.
No glass broke.
It was a silent defenestration
The volume was muted.
The dog ran out for a keek,
to see if there was anything
behind the adverts
and returned unsated
with some gaudy wires
tangled up in his copious locks.
Yesterday,
when time stopped
forever,
the dreamcloud
smiled knowing
that the sly
sun was out
with some chums
Voices hear off. Who’s that?
Sotto voce, surely not…
Laryngitis? Going round.
Dan the Man,
very quiet, very soft.
Hard of hearing what?
Panic: King of Song breaks out!
Windows flung shut,
open air freshener
acrid Lavender.
Look out window, see blind woman,
shout hello, silly me
I can’t hear her, radio off,
mute mate shows up, funny looks.
Is it me or you? Tragic
You me: who we? Comic
Heads start to implode.
All I said: ‘Nice Day!’
watch blind woman talk away.
Below decks I ate wild mushrooms in scrambled eggs,
warm Parma ham,and a choice, prime cut, brown bap,
Oodled in buttery herbs, then, replete,
ascended , fortified to sullen work
after a digestive puff
A glimpse of sun is better than none,
must learn to be more grateful for these, my gifts,
the vessel drifts, time floats, ice too.
Less temperate climes, incursive east wind,
will blast and burn, singeing our lashes
saying only we have committed sin
a mortal sin, the sin of not being them.
Leeward, a cacophony and splashes
Dolphins, a school, weirdly mocking, unabashed.
Up at the crack of doom and so it pours,
acrid quicklime, gregarious sash window,
drone buzz, sable confetti, nasal toot,
sootfall, gasp, volume, mass. What folly, what
pulchritude, what bafflement. Life was a
giant veiny nose, a red herring, a
wanton flop. So be it. Que Sera, Sera.
Horace Day, Matt Busby, James `The Fact` Durante…
pock dugout, dabbed down and dusted copious
cloud of potassium permanganate,
spotlighted by Lazarus, light reveals
white head and lost tribe of Erin: Quilty’s Pals.
Grimbeau 