How they chunter!
Tales of dogs,
chickenshit,
the dank,
the undoable in mud,
steep bare beds,
sheer stony crud.
Sipping soup
Under bivouac
Pigeon holed,
ensconced,
mordant
no spade plunges,
no plant grows.
Rice next year
Paddy fields forever
Roll up your trousers,
sport a lampshade
on your head,
Erect a pagoda
On Glastonbury Tor.
Lunchtime
News about the news:
Observe basking sharks,
lost lopsided lilies,
slumping in the lagoon
pump waters from people’s homes
busy Nessies, little lochs,
tiny monsters of the shallows.
Waterlogged logs sink from sight,
nervous wrecks shiver
in Lazy Bones’ Locker.
No way, Jose!
Smart Alec McMackerel.
Wessex is the wetland of Alba.
Let it drown.
Paint your bum blue.
Join us: Stay dry.
See Soggies flood North in droves.
Border turnpike takes groats only.
Frack Ben Nevis.
Rip off Groatland.
Yawn. Nodding off…
Done in after all the sleep and squatting…
bills, deeds, duties, musts,
cant’s, coulds, shoulds, woulds;
daydawdledoodles.
Doze snooze nap?
And why not?
Afternoon off again…Tut, tut, tut.
Crisp white linen sheets
on the hill
cracked and billowed
on the line
Stark wild clouds
flee eastward.
Wry, cow-towing
pines obey the storm
under the window,
under the pink drapes
Whimsy murmurs:
Rowan will Live.
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.
Happy is the man who can bear the things he cannot change – Schiller
Each time insurgent
Wind surges spank opulent
crimson drapes and naughty
gusts arouse dormant
gooseberries on exposed,
soft wanton thighs all sigh
Lush,
chocolate ground juice
breaches ripe knapsacks,
glibly squirting,
soiling deep plush pile rug.
On
garish cushions we float maculate:
spoiled flotsam; jetsam of anarchy,
Two headed orphans
scowling quadrophrenes
brazen twisted Sisters scream.
Chatting small, enduring twaddle and passing comment on the news,
the wonderful weather, Ents and death trances, and
recent sightings of drunken old muckers puking on poodles
Every so often there are smartphone snapshots of dormant pets,
a dinner dance after a few, a flying saucer over Tesco’s,
the paddling pool in the back garden, and some baby humans.
During tales of goings-on in times past, the clock is seen, nattering over.
Down to brass tacks: hoovering, bed-making, tidying, graft, filling in forms.
Today I am torn between Albert Camus or Kermit the Frog: I sign ‘Dean Martin.’
Lights going out around here. It will be soon.
Two disconsolate blackbirds hop and wobble
on the lumpy lawn of mud runs,
wet dark brown leaves,
and old dog turds of autumn.
Swift smoke streams, light grey wafts
and heavy laden, leaden clouds
rush on the blasting, frantic wind.
Stoic conifers and bare trees bend
and unbend, weave, give and lean.
The rosebush drips heavy fruit, unsteady silver water.
The hens gather silent in their hovel.
Safe as a puffball in a hotpress
wise beggars under feather sacks
in a draughty corner on a damp straw floor.
Tomorrow is Oxford without parking or me.
Remember the Alibi: amputated neck.
Sick note. Be flat. Play doggo. Stay warm.
Cocoon safe baby bunting.
Snug as a mug in a hug.
All is plight.
Begloved hands ring with pain.
Sing song blue.
Little Green Lies.
PMQ’s: doggy do’s and donuts, donkeys
dongs, epsilons. Chrysostom Whizzes. There
it goes up your Nos. Oui! Bilbao maze,
courting ruin. Edge of dark knees, Mercy:
Tintern’s Orange shell: morning sun crystal
fur frost. Wells too drop in on. The gentle
right man chews a rubber burger, butts a
verger, calypso hedge fund merger.
Snort and the world snorts with you:
sneeze and you sneeze on your Tod.
11:46
Rain.
Poll & Nob been and gone.
Sloth sleeps so no shouts.
Me: wetsuit gloved, coffeed up, watched replays of yesterday and now:
what?
Dog just barked, commode getting wet by coalhole.
-Wannawork?
-Should really. Falling behind. Angsty.
Something about green gauze bugs me.
Cannot spell chrysanthemuns.
Can you? Smart, uh.
Now where was i.
Grimbeau 