Cat’s Eyes
As I was working on my stare
I saw a man who was not there
He wasn’t there again today
I wish my stare would go away
Grimbeau
Scroodles
August 20, 2013
August 18, 2013
Flotsam
The sole sleep
deep
under high tide
blue sparkly
shingle & spastic deckchairs
nudge and frisk
the green beach.
A sun spurns the night.
Long way off a siren screams:
‘Come in, number 76! Time for winkles.’
August 16, 2013
Pissead
Bees on marjoram (Photo credit: bramblejungle)
Death sucks
Like trams:
Get true real,
Marjoram.
Crazy.
Like splints
Gold is copper
We make love
Sometomes
inbegtween
August 16, 2013
Charles Bukowski is 93 today.
I’m 54 years old now and the critics say
My stuff is getting sicker than ever.
As I often explain to the half-starved wretch
Who does most of my writing
Do not eat the stuff, just chew it over and
And spit it out.
The irregular beatings help sometimes, but the diet of
Wild Turkey and rabid Milfs are gobbling him
Up apace. Like the critics, they swipe the chintz curtains
For their condos.
Still life in the slum is regular now I got the pacemaker
(you can pick one up pretty cheap since the Diamond
League finished).
What is better than a BLT? I hear you ask.
Two.
August 16, 2013
Who are those Guys?
Raindrops keep falling on my shed
and just like the drain that is
too big for its head, epileptic fit,
though I’ll never ever stop my brain by explaining.
So, I’ll go do me some walking with a Nun;
she said that is no way to kingdom come,
acting like a bum,
then off she runs,
with my loaded gun.
There’s one thing I know the shoes
my uncle left me do not fit me.
It won’t be long till the pointy toes
will start to nick me.
And raindrops keep falling on my shed…
August 15, 2013
dead stuff rots
Herring aid skippers quell a smell
A Wounded woodpigeon pukes and revives.
Cream soured Tom Tits choke on the bits
Swifts scoop up gherkin shards and stiff plummet.
Seems about time to sweep up the back yard
Alternatively, build a giant rat trap.
August 15, 2013
Rock the Kasbah
World Service Station: 14.30.
Thursday, August 15, 2013
What’s so empty
about human concern
in a well-heeled brogue?
Ummm…thinks!
Ox famine aint it
awfulness oozes
Seeing a Roedean girl
gang-banged by
A Droog Militia who
snigger snidely.
Gymkharma ponies
crash demented
Against freeway barriers.
Pulsars of horse blood
pepper windscreens
Eye blink wipers
flick them away
As quick as a
pest in the Kasbah.
August 15, 2013
All that Fall
Opiate wood earth
brunette even glass,
leaf plumes.
Rain insists easy as
heavy tears of Mayo.
A Cuspid day
Fangs a lot.
Frond reaping:
marking out the autumn field
for fallow deer and rabid ox…
-Windows shut?
-Yea…yes: Clunk.
Smoke and mirrors.
A soft, lilac world
turns turtle purple:
Tempes Fuchsia
August 14, 2013
Chute
Whatday?
Whensday.
Allday?
Okay.
Night gets longer
Dawn is later
Dusk is quicker
And earlier…
The Autumn
Or the Fall
If you will
Used to be
My certain
Favourite
Of the Four
Seasons.
Nowadays,
Not so sure.
Could be Spring:
Curious
Reasons
August 13, 2013
Jasper cops it
I watched thin lipped as a wasp
(call it the Duke of Clarence)
fights pluckily to escape
the wing-glue of flat cider.
It takes ages to perish.
When I return it keeps
going for a while, succumbing
at four-twenty-four pm.
Ninety come to the waking,
a good turnout, and chase me
back inside to the plague of
locusts and other various
small and quite big flying things.
Grimbeau 