Grimbeau

Scroodles

The Joy of Sax

Phew!

So much to do

and

no point in any of it;

just plain old survival;

avoidance of mishaps,

relief from pain relief.

No simple sample pleasure.

*

Eleven it says:

Morning constitutional

To the shed and back

Phantom bouquet

bonfire smoke whispering

Secret trysts at noon

Thrilled to bits I don

A cloak & gagger…

 

*

Phone calls to invite me to luncheon;

of course,

I accept with  puerile alacrity.

What ensues is vintage time warp!

Clear the decks for a couple of hours;

put pressing needs on hold;

suspend more disbelief.

 

*

Hot colouring book trend offer:

one legged dormouse to play Plato;

Dizzy the Womble pours scorn…

Exasperated! Go touch your heels

Take odd drugs on a building site

Discover unknown places

 

 

Neruda Dada

twenty-seven drafts

i ask you

twenty seven drafts

Shut the feckin door!

i ask you

i think you

understand

 

*

life itself

is so hard

out near here

*

when  the bedouins

bought my sequins

it crossed my mind

something was awry

‘thence i placed

a gingham

tablecloth

on my jihad

and danced

insanely

just like

peter O’TOOLE

for dosh

Hush-Hush!

Eleven she says:

‘Morning constitutional

To the shed and back…’

*

Phantom bouquet

bonfire smoke insinuates

‘Sneaky trysts at noon…’

*

Thrilled to bits I don

my invisible purple

Cloak & Dagger

Affluenza

Black as night at five

as I rose and chose a coffee

from the selection of available liquids.

With this I had a cigarette, which I made myself:

harvesting, drying, processing leaf,

making paper in a big blue pail,

extracting gas from my bio mass.

An exhaustive process

often interrupted by the need

to release toxic waste from the corpus.

~

On arrival upstairs in my lift

the day was revealed as misty

and the streets sweat wet.

I dropped my lighter on the floor and left it,

vowing to retrieve it later

with my extended manual claw.

A cursory take on the news

clarified the extent of yesterday’s huge explosion in China.

Jim Al Kalili showed me around Sellafield

nuclear reprocessing plant and availed me of a

brief history of nuclear energy.

He looks very like a frog.

Serial Killer

Night & Day

Day & Night

In three parts

Night & Day

Day & Night

To the Outhouse

Yes, why not indeed

Have a wee toddle,

a wibbly-wobble

down the mazy lane,

plunge bracken scrub,

scrump wild fruit groves,

traverse the waterfall,

crawl gasping up arid scree,

clasp hard the giant beanstalk,

peruse the pristine chili pot,

achieve the cavernous outhouse,

home to venerable shallots,

gargantuan sardonic rats,

cold war veterans,

the battered legless Chippendale,

and Billy Smart’s

unfoldable deckchairs

Aerodrone

This time every day they prey

acute sapphire eyed

amber hawk circles low

infernal thermals

sizing up some juicy quarry

that toddler on a co-op trolley

the dauphin juggling in the yard

takes cover from a swooping bird

Tallyho!

Clean and dry, suited,

booted in cheapo,

garish Primark slippers,

we kiss the hogs,

mount the trusty chair

&

roll out to face the

world of sticks and stones

that break your bones

and weasel words

that just embalm you

Black Spice

I cook some

runner beans

and

put the fish

pie in

the top oven.

Thirty minutes at 180c.

Meantime She arrives.

I ate and now I sweat.

The pie was

impressive,

the beans too populous.

Soon I will shower.

The afternoon is

oppressive.

Thundery,

heavy air.

It is three seventeen.

The dog barks.

There was something.

What was it?

The pepper,

the potatoes…

and something else.

French beans:

Harry Covert’s.

Speckled with blackfly.

A portent of tempest.

Tinkling Ivory

pianissimo

light touches

on the keys

we cannot hear writing,

see sound,

smell light, touch

metaphor:

and you can imagine

what it

would be like

when you write it down

pianissimo.