mute ballerina
christian forbearance
instinctively took up wing
walking fearing to
look back in anguish
Grimbeau
Scroodles
November 11, 2016
November 10, 2016
Same Old Malarkey
-Apart from walk what
would you like to do?
-Dunno, don’t think about that
much these days.
Go out?
Where?
What to do?
I’m skint anyway,
then there’s the weather,
and, to be honest
I’m not much company,
and, repulsive to look at
except in a ghoulish way.
See I’m pretty much
resigned to that these days.
Don’t get me wrong though,
I haven’t given up.
Where there’s life…and all of that.
What about you, what are you up to?
-Cosmic time travel,
the laundry,
a spot of Pilates,
watch some junk on the box,
maybe a spot of bear baiting.
Same old, same old.
Isn’t online shopping a godsend?
The time you save…
-Dunno, don’t do it much these days,
too much damn hassle
and then there’s identity theft,
hacking,
and you don’t know
really see what your getting,
well you can’t can you –
not unless you’re really there,
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November 10, 2016
Pugilism
Away from chaos radio and noisy gadgets
I try to hear my own voice.
It is jumbled, jerky, muddled
&
When it hears me listening it shut’s up.
Intruder, it whispers under my breath and hides behind an eyebrow.
Another voice comes, quite the opposite of my sonorous lilt
An abrupt jibber-jabber
accompanied by
a mellifluous buzzer.
Just as I begin to make it out
It stops and hides behind an eyelid
~
Unperturbed I resume my
interrupted bout
of shadow boxing.
So far the shadow is ahead by two points:
it is southpaw, dogged, cunning, experienced.
I stand firm, steely jawed, granite eyed,
bleeding, unfeeling, waiting.
Rope a dope, Ali called it;
or, was that Angelo?
~
Zap, I’m downed
a momentary lapse is all it takes
bloody WASPs
get me every time
I let my guard down
November 7, 2016
Butter & Twisted
Turmoil! Chaos! Anarchy!
Toast marmalade sour grapes
Washed down with orange
Mug of ersatz crude …
November 7, 2016
Forthcoming Distractions
We are going to a very dark place, says the primal scream on global wireless: the republic cannot withstand its savagery Selfie Studios set to release A blockbuster Thanksgiving special Double Bill The Death of Nation Built on Slavery & The Decline & Fall of the Human Condition that must not under any circumstance improve but may register its disapproval vociferously by pressing buttons that turn out the light
November 6, 2016
Zero Hours Poet
Just get the one hour these days
to write this guff so I’d best
just get a move on
there’s others waiting
and they’re growing restless
Yeah, they cut me down
to one hour for my own good,
or so they tell me, and, in
many ways they have a point.
At least when I’m just sitting
doing nothing else, I know
I’m doing nothing.
Sure, I could be making do,
doing a job, all of that right stuff,
but that is not what I want to do
Write?
Well…
Be, be and write?
Yeah, write & be
Is something missing?
Yea, happy
Happy, write and be?
That’s it. Write and be happy.
You’ve got fifteen minutes left
Now I’m very sad
I’m very sad to have heard that
Send my commiserations
All my thoughts and prayers
To whom it may have concerned
November 6, 2016
Damp Squibbles
The road is full up
bold brazen alien cars—
fireworks party sleepover,
vodka cheeseburgers,
Haircut 100 (Boy Meets Girl),
Megadeath (Love’s Old Sweet Song)
—sailing metaphor
discovered cringing in
uncharted waters.
Here?
Early night after watching the box—
quiet as a sober xmas and about
as memorable
as a drunken one.
That time of year is about
After all that sleep I am up early,
cognizant of bowel, reminiscing all the time,
self-nutting, never the plaintive, always the pontiff,
he who must be dismayed at all times,
grovelling before the
altar of adverse opinion.
Waiting for my hat to be knocked off
Ireland beat the All Blacks in Chicago—
were they wearing Blue Shirts?
Always feared the Moor, the Bogmen*
And its bog weather down here in the Cut
Dross grey damp dank murk
Sunday in November
Glamorous brown tortoiseshell
bicycle clips seconded
make-do Alice bands
by stray myopic pedlars
*The bogman learnt to fear the Moor
when they left the quay of Baltimore
with a penchant for paella,
whitewash, and a wife and kids,
slave traders of the Levant,
sporting nubian pantaloons,
chain smoking ali baba camels
swiped them in the night
November 4, 2016
warm wind & piss on
really quite remote
barren archipelagos
Warts, nomads, bunions
carbuncles & verukas
Diver plunges in
Splosh!
‘Come out of there!’
Loud came the stern reply
‘Not on your Nelly!’
‘Leave my Nelly out of this.’
Democracy drives yo proper crazy
Roller Skaters glide
on dried up cripple creeks
ambulances circulate
half-buried yellow Thunderbirds
poking wings out of true blue sand
long hair blowing in the wind
Whoosh!
November 2, 2016
Chimps
Midday monkeyhouse
Vicarage tea anecdotes
Stretch out big red chair
Occidental death of an
English Inanest
Praise the ammunition
Bypass the Lawyer
Lost in a golden fairy light
Seven ages of America
Iron this and iron that
Crystal methodology
Clear as kerosene
Smell of burning ice
November 1, 2016
Daft Parade
Just sat here watching
The saints go marching
in picking up sweets
& detritus of consumer
hellraising last night—
abandoned cellphones
grotesque prosthetic
cruel rubber masquerades—
O! to be a flea
in that golden fleece
Slurping ambrosia
Post richly deserved
beatification
An unknown soldier
Marching as to War
Seventy six trombones
In the morning sun
Kill the Pig Parade
Magic mushroom bands
Trip the light fantastic
Lambs to the slaughter
O! Muse why art though not
wholeheartedly sick
Of this daft parade
parasitic worms?
Grimbeau 