Blubber
Alpha, beta, theta male
Turgid prone blue bloated whale
Wretched in the morning sun
Tide went out, your undone
Mr Pye and Mrs Fleece
Dissecting you for ambergris
Grimbeau
Scroodles
October 31, 2016
noon moon
down in tinkly dell erratic heffers gambol pissed from windfall quince tranquil chaos rains solar moon bewildered shrubberies tired armies retire benevolent anarchy rules sentimental clocks warble hogs go truffle rummaging lepidoptera go with
October 31, 2016
A Dude Awakening
...you are not writing thus you are not a writer i am not writing thus i am not a writer -better quickly jot that down quick over there that paper scrap with spuds eggs, toilet rolls, dog food,crisps some forgotten shopping list or postmodern masterpiece what a bloody mess better get out the Hoover later there's nothing on the other side where's the pen? there, a pen, blue dried up biro, it might just work today. Increasingly violent circles- watch it, you'll rip it: A pencil! there behind the box of menthol vapes behind the burning candle careful, slowly does it that's how accidents occur i really must go to the loo. the dog wants to go out i can let him out and go downstairs, listen to the early morning news Shit! the clocks went back it's bloody Alan Bennett fetching in the milk i am not a writer i am not writing you are not a writer you are not writing
October 30, 2016
Ectoplasm
Night falls in an hour…
Selwyn had that look of his
Infinite dismay
Tempered by mendacity
A cruel melancholy
On the steaming heath
Feral energy flickers
Burning orange furnaces
Spit molten napalm globules
Vitriolic lavas creep
Embolismic pus
Overflows the mildewed culverts
All carnage and corruption
Premature fireworks fly
Down in Dingley Dell tonight
October 30, 2016
Stairwell to Paradise
All pills bulletin
Filthy crypto dawdles neath
Hazardous staircase
Awkward traverse to summit
Landing guarded by clutter
In the shower I crouch
A potbellied question mark
I anti-pasta rasta
Hairier than thou
Either me or this gut must go
green beans & brown rice
Matabele tea and toast
The clever money’s on the gut
Hope springs eternal
Skinless sausages in brine
The politics of cheesecake
Pressing issues of the day
Weigh heavily on my mind
October 30, 2016
All Loved Up
Foggy light six forty five
Quarter to eight summer time
Chronology sucks
Watched Michael Moore in Trumpland
Who the hell is Vince Foster?
After filling up my senses
Overnighting in the forest
John Denver for company
You cannot imagine how
Subliminal I am feeling
In the last colony left on earth
October 29, 2016
Trumpton Riots
Green sky thinking
Prevailing Ditherama
Mexican standoff
Stop the world right away
Figure out what’s going on
Stuck in a sand trap
On the dodgy nineteenth hole
Fiddling with your quiff
love the sound of your own voice
No choice is a choice
October 28, 2016
Collateral Cabbage Patch
Rook—
Behaviourally disturbed
Mistook
A pharmacy for
An inglenook
In a sweetie shop
Crook—
Psycho-socially unhinged
Mistook
A hospital for
A children’s book
In an ambulance
October 28, 2016
Cut the Crap
That’s enough! Enough faffing
Let’s get down to business
Cut the elephant shit
Pass me a slice overhear
‘How do you like it,
Over easy or sunny side up?‘
October 28, 2016
Quantum Limp
Wyoming, 1953. Interior: Homestead. No Boy. No Van Helsing Superstition plays stridently in the henhouse... —Eliza there is no genie, there is no bottle—it’s all in your head! Eliza looked at the genie and the bottle and smiled —And I am not Aladdin, I am Alan Ladd Eliza sucked the genie up with her pipette, filled the bottle, and sealed it with the orange rubber bung from her gingham pinafore, got up tutting, shook her pigtails and hollered. -Well,Silly old me, she said, I do go on sometimes, don’t I? How do you put up with me? Alan Ladd winced and smiled simultaneously. Good question. —What shall we eat tonight? —Dunno…mince? Better get some out then —Okay ~ Abingdon, 2002. Interior: Abattoir kitchen, morning. Tiptoe through the Tulips fills the air —Matter prevails over anti-matter, it’s self-evident, said Zak pouring yak’s piss over his brexit, slurping Jasmin tea, slicing a green banana, feeding a profound need to purge. —Yes, said Andreas Muggleton, hurry up for God’s Sake I’m famished. —Food is love and love is to be nurtured, said Zak, buttering wholemeal toast Bollocks, thought Andreas Muggleton, restraining his tongue till he got fed —How could you be wrong? —Here, get that down you —Wanker ~ Saragossa, last Tuesday. Exterior: Orange grove, dawn, two bodies hang, Yaketty-Yak blasts from the Tannoy Ferdinand and Isabella were not talking again. The silence was golden. Man, could they go on when they got started. Three days was nothing to them. Their record was six. They held the Bigmouth Ruler’s Cup eight years running. The novelty had long worn off. ~ Los Alamos, 1944. Exterior: Carwash. The Sun has got his Hat on sung by Billie Holliday, crackly car radio. -Oomph, that’s what we need. Oomph! -No mate, graft is what we need. Graft! Chain gang noises exercised Paul Muny and the Seven Dwarfs all morning -Hi-Ho! said Walt, dodging airborne digging implements. A nightmare in the dream factory, Walt’s Deepest secret fear. When will Herbie ever ride again? ~ Here, today. Interior: Coal Hole. Hit the Road Jack echoes from inside the big house. Witheld rang ten times Nobody answered twice How very remiss, thought a piece of wayward Anthracite
Grimbeau 