evolution postponed but a brief while
door slam shut out pantomime
stop traffic bigstink jamboreen politics of sustenance sufficient unto the day-o
in place of fear itself: fear of fear of violence lovers lie bleeding snoring
pawing it on thick as creasote, sticky fingers cloy uglying soft sweet hotspots petrified forget-me-knots
tombs immemorial litter car park wheelie bins full of spice and quick sloe gin
Wistful, windless, desultory:
frugal, fawn, beige, puce _
Elvis has left the building
Pulling a fast one again
~
Half-six on the dot:
doors slam, off to the coast,
Bodies glide on the high tide,
rolling away to chilling gyres
~
tussles and rubs
from jetsam and kelp,
nibbled by gulls
eschewed by sussed brill
~
When gargantuan
Exquisite imaginations
Once went to work on
A polythene egg
In a bubble car
There was a big bang
The rest is pre-history
Octoplasm gruel, eternal gloop,
stodging things up, malingering till good
night calls:
Halt…
Music soothes the savage breast.
Death Metal springs to mind.
Put on your rusty chain mail vest.
Go find an axe to grind.
Roaring to the chemist
On your zimmer frame
The traffic cops then did you
For pissing in a drain
Fined or sent to prison
Condemned to spend your time
Moaning at the bus stop
It never leaves on time.
as chance would have it
thick tar cable does
the job of a horizon, shut your
left eye everso tight
and you
can frame
it all in just one go
clean
elongated myopic oblong
careful to include twigs
close attention to detail-
bare rowan twigs,
fragile faith in the lawn
of unforeseen consequences
mildew gilded boughs,
enlightenment infant sun,
bronzed and crystal clear.
The winter berries perished
in the spring storms,
rats got eaten up
by cold-hearted old stock doves,
or washed down weedy culverts
flapping about yelling in vain
like sink spiders floundering
in numinous U-bends
under sinks
all over the unknowable
The noose was too loose; the trap door stuck.
‘Lydia Steptoe, you are, by dint of serendipity, free to roam the earth, jejune and fancy free’
The voice removed the sack. It was Mr Kipling.
‘James Hayter?’
‘None other’ said James Hayter, glowing with avuncular warmth
‘Are you pulling my leg?’ said Lydia.
‘No, dear lady. The rules are clear as almond slices. Now off you trot, and sorry for the cock-up.’
Hayter doffed his manky indigo topper and indicated the door marked ‘Exit’
The lights went orange. The cluster of onlookers began to hop on their right legs. Lydia stepped down from the rickety scaffold and scuttled toward the door. Before pushing the bar she turned
‘For what was I condemned to hang, James Hayter?’
‘Wasting court time with mediocre card tricks’
‘Seems a bit harsh’, she thought nodding mock penitence
…
Outside it was dark. The cathedral bell…
View original post 942 more words
Eight six five crackles
Hot charcoal stumps spit fire
Occasional scowls
Just about sums it all up
Must have slipped away last night
when bodies change by
factories beyond control
Lucky Generals
Get off Scot Free with Murdo
Turdrum, outcome tax
Doomsday bookies may snigger
Cool bulging obese hipsters
…fall Rain strawberry Rainbow
Midsummery night dream Fruitcup
blitz UP strawberry moon juice nice
drenches tense empurlpled Wrenches
spring’s offensive flourish nascent lulls
leaves droop drip tremble crepid–
such things I saw in
Borehamwood
a certain cure for summer flood
Grimbeau 