Rasher Baps
droll nodes
brood
rude
colours:
pastel dragons
come from
melted crayon
puddles
sizzling bacon
takes the air,
makes it purr
like a pillow
we swallow
eating
our words
like gruel
Grimbeau
Scroodles
Tag: Arts
August 29, 2014
Clacton Calling
Sur le Plage, de l’Or
Under
the beach
Hidden
Gold
‘O’er them dunes,
Cap’n Mudd!’
Says Mrs Hands.
‘…just go left at the war mines,
right at the shipwreck,
and,
Bob’s yer Uncle
It’s just there
opposite Aldi.’
…
Put on, or should it be, donned
John’s bonce on the hob.
Brain versus brawn
is a no-brainer.
Meanwhile…
after a lean while
Herod buys bonking time,
hides it in his Wish Urn
The sheer, brazen
Barbaric
Sauce of the fellow!
‘Chopsy prophet.
Salome’s mum
was a right one
too…’
…
Folkestone Ferry
grounded
On Golden Beach.
Lemmings swarm
Ferreting about.
Dredgers look on.
Dormant
In easy, idle, calm.
…
Just waiting
for the
Ebb to Flow
Uphill
August 28, 2014
Not A Verse
This is
not
a poem
So do
not
worry
Or
read it
Instead,
Tear it up
Burn it
And
Eat more
Eggs
August 26, 2014
Licking Stone Cell
We require your desire,
drag your carcass
from the mire.
To get drier, light a fire,
hang up your dripping socks.
Paul de Koch mocks your lot
A little birdie told me.
Flew into a Jealous rage,
At Jimmy Page,
the topmost
riff in rock.
August 24, 2014
New Sarum
A faux
Universe wilts
on the mantel.
Up propped by
Gormonghastly
Candelabra
Further west,
kinda seaward
Gawdyfauve
Naive postcard:
At last!
Salisbury
Greets the coast:
Crumbledown,
Tumbledown
Cinque City
By the sea.
August 23, 2014
Yes!…You Did!
This morning…
I
spent
Reading, reading,
reading
my back pages
Wincing & chuckling;
embarrassed & confused,
dazed & amused.
Impertinent little jerk
Shaking a dead man’s geraniums.
I am the guy who
wrote this shit
Am
I…?
This afternoon
August 22, 2014
Flawed Claude (the colour lampshade…)
He’s up, he’s up…
he’s down again
Like a yoyo,
a rat up a pump
Or a fiddler’s elbow
Not coming
Nor going
Just up to…
What?
August 20, 2014
Tickly Cough
Tidy,
half tidy,
untidy…
there is a
tidy in
Affairs
of Zen
August 20, 2014
Sad Moon Rising
The day after the day after wholesale slaughter flyblown autumn gossamer persists stubborn as winter rowan becomes tonight more trash to incinerate sweet horse chestnut We endure stale lavender All the greens become obscene rude yellows stark enchanted azure No chance of heaven at eleven. As in the black night a certificated medic calls to say: Life goes on without us then just like glimpses promptly disappears
August 13, 2014
Lie, Bore…Tea?
Grimbeau 