Truth
Head of
The essential difficulty with Mssr Grimbeau’s
pomes is that they are crap & drivel
Clap-clap!
self-knowledge is
a wonderful thing.
Grimbeau
Scroodles
Tag: Aviation
April 2, 2014
Reach for the Skies
The
Wrong sorts
Of
Saharan sands
And car smut,
And fumes
Industrial & Domestic,
Combine
Continental
And homemade
Detritus
become
atmosphere:
some air left.
March 2, 2014
Birdbrain
That complete,
the mind flits,
like a swift?
No, a shard
Like the omen,
with Greg Peck.
We’ll get there…
A Sprite!
That was it.
The mind flits
like a Sprite.
November 22, 2013
Bird of Cowardice
The mob has gone.
Bob is making
rolls with sausages in them.
A thirty four is shut: northward bound.
Wish I was a Phoenix.
Sometimes
July 22, 2013
Icarus
All the trees
are brown
and the
carpet is grey.
I went
for
a splash
on a summer’s day…
July 20, 2013
September 2011
Pull the curtains and reveal that wow sky.
Thin cloud sculpts a convalescent moon:
wondrous shivering sad silver presence.
The clouds permit this harbour of head space
Provoking basks to chill before dumb dawn.
Then watch through the fan window,
gaze past the submarine aerials and chimneys
and glimpse a fulsome face on Kerry’s mad coast.
Promenade across sad Bantry and stark Beara,
then southward to Baltimore and the big seas.
When bright dead and other sleepers cop this
they abandon calm: and bark wild with wonder.
July 5, 2013
Cornlegs Kellflakes
Above them clouds the monk soars:
Theloniously.
July 3, 2013
Send in the Drones
Wasn’t that sick?
Are you aware?
Me lying dead on the ground,
You in mid-air.
Send in the drones.
Didn’t it miss?
How can they prove?
One who keeps tearing around,
One who can’t move.
Where are the drones?
Send in the drones.
Just when I’d stopped opening wars,
Finally knowing the one that I wanted was yours,
Making my entrance again with my nonchalant air,
Sure of my lines,
No one is there.
Don’t you love force?
My call I fear.
I thought that you’d want what I want.
Sorry, my dear.
But where are the drones?
Quick, send in the drones.
Don’t bother, they’re here
Isn’t it sick?
Isn’t it clear,
Losing my timing this late
In my career?
And where are the drones?
There ought to be drones.
Let’s get out of here.
Related articles
- US drone strike in Pakistan kills 18 (thenewstribe.com)
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 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.
Grimbeau 