Pomes is
Commoditties
Vacuum packed starshells
Beside the brassica
Liquid cheese fajitas
Above the pistachios
Something for the weekend
The Poet
A mere commode…
So go to
work on a leg,
or,
better still,
two.
Plumb
the crumbliest,
Flakiest
confection
in the world
it does what
it says
on the tin:
Authentic
Teak
Finish
Go on,
Try it!
Yes, you can
If you like
Ike
& Tina
Tuna Chunks
This
Weekend will comprise one diamond guest:
Familiar, nosey, potty, bumptious…
What is guest? A wayfarer, a punter,
A complicit victim of hospitality!
This is not a motel, there are no
Bed & Breakfast signs, no spiteful
Waiters spitting in the soup. No Bill.
Just the old, battered emotional baggage to
Attend to, false dawns, a restless farewell.
Head of
The essential difficulty with Mssr Grimbeau’s
pomes is that they are crap & drivel
Clap-clap!
self-knowledge is
a wonderful thing.
Demi-stool on Piddle, flushed out, so now bathe
Soily scaly paws. Smite it! By my gum,
perfumed ovoid amber tablet glued to basin shock.
Rubbed it long nice & hard by flannel for
blotch and crud scrub of digit, knuckle and palm.
Knuckle and nickel? Puckle the pickle of muckle,
Sterling winkles, no bawbees. Groat Scottie!
No wonga, not none. Yaboo-sucks states slimy,
Snide curling chippy poundwinker toffboy.
Pretty strung out on a weird green quoit when a zither said: ‘get down here punk, gravity is not levity.’ Ignoring their megaphone shouts the ground hit me and I dragged myself through the thronging crowds of Alexandria, piss bleeding from my eyes, in an attempt to find out why the ship matches had disappeared from the soul kitchen. And guess what! As I approached the mews a spider strand silvered down from the window, and I, like an extra in an epic, tethered my one remaining toenail to it, trusting the last chance saloon, and got pulled up to an open bay window, where I got proffered attractive vino, which killed me off. The last thing I remember is Torquoise.
Why?
Damned if i know.
Twenty two (and more) pigeon posts phase your
eyes.
Cold tea and chocolate Hobnobs of the night
Adorn the paper strewn workstation
Grab an eyesore shower and recommence
The stringent pursuit of sublimation:
Prospecting for diamonds in the Shite.
Milk & (so much) More mail me:
‘Grimmy, beat the heat with a summery shake!’
Little do they know; out of the mouths of babes and
Sucklings.
Chucklings all round, paroxysms
Epileptic fits
Now,
That’s a bone-fide
Summary shake.
Tarmac patch water tower
wood stump clearing dip
and two
little double roundabouts,
flat binocular
white nipples
sullied by tyre smear,
skids, and fast
turning people
rushing to the bomb
plant past gypsy site,
through wood and common bends
and twists and dents
to the Falcon’s nest…
The cosmic chime of sub-atomic car clock
Inspired (drove) Samantha to yellow tears.
Fred Carnage clutched boiling plastic cocoa,
felt for her a lot: Why was that then ouch?
Bingo! It was Bloody Yule of course.
Her in fatigues sporting a bazooka,
he recalled, sipping with care…
The logo of Mothercare, in mist subsumed.
They shared the memory of a teenage pregnancy
A rollicking remembrance of a rampant ride for Fred.
The nightmare of an unmarked hospital grave for Sam.
Grimbeau 