Purple sloping Wonderfield
Bog cattle hugging below
Sat like the statue thinking
Halfway up on a blasted stump
Beneath a humming pylon
Beside a scruffy gorse
Sits a painted horse
Myrtle twizzling track
Made respectable by
Tarmac and white strips
Desiccated coconut flakes
Magnolia and cherry blossom
Windblown dusting cows snouts
Makes them shuffle, snort in concert
Painted horse sneezes along aloof
Elsie Gassbang-Trott
always told it like it was-
essentially transvestite
noble by disposition
or by dint of nature—
girls will be the boys
& the boys will be the girls:
Whatever you want
Twelfth Night of twelfth day
—Now is the winter
of snide discontent—
Wrong Play, Belch
Burp, barf, bark…
Enter broken head:
Well, why you did ask!
~
Coming up three in the sub-post office, rain, pretty dull, quiet, the games have started, think I’ll take a break, go below for a quiet smoke, finish my too sweet coffee; brains gone native, so to speak, not responding to all this gender swapping on the company wireless.
I can see the Puritans giving out soon if they don’t put a sock in this…
~
—No
more cakes & ale, Toby-Baby
Think I’ll forge a billet-du or two
Set the ball
Gallivanting mad
in love’s tacky bagatelle
—Pray,
entreat those three interlopes
loitering by the knick-knacks
come hither nuncles
excorcise the stable stench
with bawdy ballads:
Feast of Fools, Feast of Folly
Indented coastline
enchanted Adriatic
Harbouring novelties
under your nose, Malvolio
Ship of Folly, Ship of Fools
Epiphany mistook for Advent!
This tells a tale or ten…
Lost is Yulespace, got mashed, and crashed to earth.
Splat!
The last day of Xmas.
Today the alchemists bearing the yearly cold, lack of sense and mirth
pitch up, begging favours, selling usury. Usual cobblers;
Wealth, divinity, and death – too late lads, I will say,
Got that on Black Friday mugging happy shoppers
(bagged a drone charger and a ten foot serene flatscreen)
No, today its back to bollocks with a bang
Like all good things,
so must bad things
End.
Bring it on, Xenophon!
The deep, odd, shock of it hit me in the sun
On the shed path, marooned on a concrete crack
Freed up took in the scene, shocked, turned;
Trundled, older, balder, back up the ramp
Freewheeled, calmer, silent, down the ramp
Came to rest beside the stable table,
Tossed my hair (singular) in the blue breeze
And wiped the puss from Barney’s weeping souls.
The moo-cows are gone home to roast
No more mutinous idiots barge in
Decide to play this game of life to win
Grimbeau 