I have thought more quickly than I can write;
milk monitors;
good brandy & fillet steak;
gargantuan thirst;
the English;
nonsense;
the death of the left;
rain & clutter;
sign on you crazy Diamond;
suffer any wrong that is done to you rather than come here;
the state is an unnecessary evil;
the phones do not work.
Easter Sunday:
bright blue,
Lapislazulish,
cold.
Crusty as a dead cat
I crawl and prowl
the Vatican
awaiting a peep at
The Frank One.
Lovely weather for it too:
Rising from the dead
after a day off.
Scoff all eggs
Hitting four afternoon
Pretty busy buzz-buzz today:
lie-in (phew!);
hunting fivers out in Windia;
big scribbles with pretty coloured pencils;
youza-youza denklings;
a spree of Django strums and flutterings.
Life imitates art imitates
art imitates life imitates
life imitates art
imitates
life
imitates
Hilda Hogg bit the bullet and set herself to flog her figurine of ole King Zog bequeathed by her fabled auntie Dora who held a candle for the old despot. Times was hard, there was a duck at the door with a hat on, Bailiff Bernard dunning a bill.
‘Adieu, old chum’ she whispered through a final lucky lick on the pate of the china chappie in her trembling hands. If she had really had a candle she would have lit it and muttered a homily to tractor production in Albania.
Thigh deep wading in the river,
Fading lilies in her hair she whistles
Cool air as the black night rests
A retinue in St. Cuthbert’s belfry
Fading lilies in her hair she whistles
This is not the dawn of last year:
A retinue in St. Cuthbert’s belfry
Knows it is another night of wonder
This is not the dawn of last year,
For there, beyond the railway sleeper
The retinue in St. Cuthbert’s belfry
Know Love is rising
Here, beyond the railway sleeper
Thigh deep wading in the river,
Fresh Love is rising from
Cool air as the black night rests.
She Sings Good
Way downstream in
Sleeping Waters rise
Spring tides surge.
How very dare I meet her now,
brave the dangerous voyage?
The grass lies down in the valley below
Where milk cows ominous sit.
After hands work scripts that never end
Dawn to dusk when the cuckoo spits
Grimbeau 