Grimbeau

Scroodles

Rites of Autumn

Day began in dark

at five with roll-ups

and reheated coffee

radio news of butcher birds,

seasonal badger culls,

the lighting of a candle

forgotten prayers

sea weather prophecies

~

The light of day found

me playing pinball

biding time for the right

moment to unload

before hard labour

breaking feet in smokey rooms

lurching haplessly

between ashtray and crucible

 

 

 

Further Reading

It is the evening of the day…

hungry and thirsty I wait

on Junk Food & Spurious receipts.

What no paper money!

Oh My God!

A Bank Holiday

On other people’s

Misery

Drifting

That’s All Folks!

Heed the Migrant

refugees

One for you

&

One for me

Oh!

how happy

We shall be

Come

The

spreading

Migrant tree

Reading Festival

An irkstacy oeuf jumbles

Gyges’s Knitty-knotty knot

Mad unravelled oakum-pokum

Squirrels mate via screensaver

The August Bank Hillbilly Farce

Weekend descending apace

Little Me

Poem posted, home alone, drinks at three

with Little Me

and my charming, closest, confidantes

Myself and I

‘Tiddle-ee-om-pomp-om!’

Panto tuna lute

open gee gnomic

ale eminent tory heir gone

tomorrow sorrow scars

Desultory smoulder

Pine cones gloaming wormcast

Seashell hermit crabs

Grumble gruesome gulls gambol

Shirtless maggots candy floss

straw fedora hats

Buttons elopes with Blue moon

Sickert sicks up cockles

Muscles lifts bar belles

St. Trinian’s run riot

Beside the seaside

Beside the sea

 

Bird’s Nest Soup

‘Weatherwise it’s

Dustpan ugly day…’

*

Found enlightenment

in sunshine running

a soap oratario

a sudden inlook

at the parts I play

in the loneliness yarn.

*

From Buddha to Alhasfa

Dillinger to Jesus

Costume changes.

And So do yours.

How fucking mad is it to

think that we are all

characters at play!

*

Shoot! That went quick

One moment conversation

Then it’s Old Beijing

Full of shit and twigs

Two thousand and eight

Was a good year for Birdnests

Old Age Home

Weirdos,

acid casualties,

a-minor people,

hanging off

the Phalange,

stuck in gunge,

malingering & snivelling

by the out pipe,

doing the what the fucks and who am I’s.

Can you hear me?

Hog Manure

Aint no rainfall

when she comes

Aint no torrents

any more

Aint no rainfall

when she comes

aint no back pain

when she comes

opening the door

~

Inoi

know ino

I no in

o I no now

I now no

~

Aint no moonshine

Then she’s gone

Fallen on the shore

 

 

 

 

 

 

After the Flood

Evensong

Dripped

spent cartridge

kaleidoscope

compound vivid fractures

small perfect green shamrock

blossoms thrive oddly

the earth smells brown

~

Laud’s Book of Common Prayer

Chimes like drafty field mice

Checking out the winter lodging

~

Afterwards

By the round

Complexity

Profound squalid textures

Loom large acute strandscape

Suds weave osprey

The sea smells green