Door Death
So, farewell then, Ray Manzarek
Baroque’n’Roll Pyro:
Vox of Reason
Of Strange Doors.
Cremation?
Special Friend.
Grimbeau
Scroodles
Tag: Arts
May 20, 2013
On the Passing of the Pioneer Spirit…
He was known to live life dissipated:
Gambolling in crazed buffonery,
Guzzled half a modest brewery.
When his liver, bored, emigrated.
My Uncle Head was steadfast and insistent:
‘Feed me!’ he yelled ‘Til I’m wild euphoric.’
For a pint of gin, no tonic: chronic.
So immaculated homeward: distant.
Ten Afton and a quart of Barleycorn,
stern tea and two, too loud radios
Unwelcomed him the very next morning
as he dimly recalled Jack de Mannio,
gave up on a shower and yawning,
levitated outsidewards to soil the patio.
Back inside he trawled in his shotaway head
and dredged up from its slum, the aviator,
Louis Blerio, who, a century and
one day ago, fetched lobster thermidore
and ate it for breakfast on England.
Head sloooshed a tuft of dog and considered
The perilous return voyage while his liver withered.
May 18, 2013
Square Tonsure
Ineffable moments of bugbites:
nostalgia
Nettles and Dock leaves
Discarded cheap bleach bottles
No Orchids
A paper robe
Roentgen and Kropotkin
Dance in yellow fields
Of Rapeseed
And bananas
May 17, 2013
AM
07:53
Posted the old villanelle: fitting.
Milkman brings compost: god barks.
‘Cheesemate!’
‘Soreye…’
Petrus
Ichor
Pertrichor
Dog Doos
May 17, 2013
Villanelly the Mastadon
Villa Nelly the Elephant
Phew! Thank Zeus for that, now it is over
Free at last of the drivelling, humdrum forum
Safely rest in peace and eat ambrosia!
Netiquetee niggly no-no’s off you go, Sir!
Untrammelled by the facile, graceless boredom
Phew! Thank Zeus for that, now it is over
No longer shall one have to soft demur
To the basilisk eyed referential quorum
Safely mush some peas and eat ambrosia
For twenty nights in the same pullover
Horse latitudinal, relentless doldrums,
Break free, get out of that, now it is over.
Have you waited on mention of a four-leaf clover?
Or dreamt of gliding condors of the sun
So say, thank Zeus for that, now it is over.
I dreamt last night as wracked by farce and bovver
A phrase I forgot came back to me, ‘Have Fun!’
Phew! Thank Zeus for that, now it is over
You can safely rest and eat ambrosia.
May 13, 2013
This little piggy went…
Half-eight and getting dark,
night falls over,
gives up the day,
and slumps,
snoring till tomorrow morning, when it wakes
frozen and dank
in a ditch
called Monday.
If summer comes, what shall we be?
Drunken loons cavorting in the cups of memory:
escapees, refugees, and philanderers, rusting in the sun,
never sleeping,
corroding in the night,
spongers in the morning’s dew:
mist as a vat.
Or, just the moiety of a tanner,
half a sixpence,
belted and braced,
suited and booted.
All dressed up
nowhere to go.
Related articles
- Loons in the morning mist (captainkenscloud.com)
May 10, 2013
ASBOTOXIN!
Anyfingoze:
honky-tonk Joanna,
purple pile alto…
Brute guster out on the Prairie Chook,
crimson tulip sunglimpsing behind wild rose
and gooseberry bushes.
Shag and Puffin simper,
Whirled without world thru the World,
harmless & homeless.
Mayfair millionaires fester in lambsmilk.
Moustaches buckle in the Martian breezes.
Megaratsingers flip baked beans in the crystal nightsun.
Weeds walk
and
troops Foxtrot on the lake:
Hunger is an energy.
May 7, 2013
Horse Feathers Forest
Run out of town by a bunch of shit traders who wanted my ass for burgers. Now I crouch, beaten up bad with a missing hoof iron; skulking on the edge of a forest. East of Eden and West of Wedlock, pretty much nowhere. We had to pull up at the cross because I went lame and the wheels went wonky after the chase.
Lucky to be alive?
Well, no-one in their right mind knows, do they? Pass me an analyst: I’m a hungry horse! Gestalt and fries, run it through the jungle, motherfuckers.
Love is lord of all!
So says that poncey little Nightingale posing on my snout making snidies about my long nose, having a laugh at my expense. Snap! Missed him, little punk! These parasitic bastards only hang around to eat my bugs and look pastoral. Stick the picture on a box of smarmy chocks, get obese, and be a celebrity.
Nothing to do in the evening, see nobody apart from the devil and go nowhere but bed. This is no life for a big horse. Why did they not just finish me off when they had the chance? Well, I’ll tell you why – they do not have the fucking guts. Can’t risk losing face, being found out, taking responsibility? You are one of them, insecurity in numbers, fucking lemmings the lot of you.
Fuck, I’m crying. Big boulders hit the forest floor and make great lakes where small things can thrive. The Crow Fascisti perform mourning manoeuvres. Dreamt last that some chestnut filly wanted my foals, no face: even my head is taking the piss! I’m out of here.
Piss off owl – twat! No ostrich, I do not want a fucking Pontefract cake. And you idlers in the canopy can shut your holes and take a powder. I’m thirsty.
April 12, 2013
Lidl Idlyll
Soft lions, some scions, and their gold entourage
mass and flux by limelight.
Warm panthers lap themselves with scourging tongues;
and tigers hide behind yucca and reed,
ready for a passing feed. Look it’s us
on our Persian excursion, riding on
complex Manchurian carpets, for the
destination of a supermarket soul.
April 11, 2013
It…
Then
breaks clear, steady indigo day,
one star awake in the west, cautious
action on the horizon;
nerve
ends flapping on the wind, nerve ends
like underwater shrubbery,
waving and posturing,
sometimes
leeward bowing; sometimes starboard:
a massed rank of constant certainty.
I claim the right to dream in words.
Yesterday
afternoon I ate two
chocolate chip cookies,
the straws that broke the camel’s belly,
and now everything is blubber
& stool.
Grimbeau 