Grimbeau

Scroodles

Tag: Food

Mud and the Miscreant

Crave still and clear vision,
you never know it could, you know.
Bad lad down,
clear out of town.
Do not darken our door

bad news boy.
Come back when we’re gone out.
Sit down hard and think about it,
what you did,
You. Serves you right, eh?
Got your just deserts.
Look at you standing

lost in long grass
with toffee in your hair,

bramble scrammed calves
and shins.
Hide from the passing voices.
You’re on the run on your own.
Outsider till the smell of onions
frying, then, caught on the horns of…

land of Nod
Conflicted. In two minds caught on
Hungry man: angry man.
Be nice, take your medicine, be brave,
get fed, then go back to the Land of Nod you little sod.

Scram

super macro blue and purple eyeshadow

Chewy lamb of god & son ltd
First compact runners
Old new potatoes reheated
Fresh mint sauce of summers
Then and now under lilac cloud
Eyeshadow, outlined by cable mascara
And toothpick telegraph poles that scud
Willy-nilly, abandoned to the coal nirvana
Trees call another dusk

Sleeping Fish

Crucian carp (Carassius carassius)

There are yellowfish

crying out

for a poach.

We approach seven.

It is evening:

drinks on the patio,

freewheeling banter, laughs , and snacks.

Tapas lovingly prepared.

The lugubrious air

memories of summers past.

Dreamtime in a word.

The smoked haddock will stop yelling soon.

Green or black olives, Daphne?

Are they pitted?

By my fair hand.

You are the one, aren’t you…What’s that sound?

Fish snoring.

Tee-hee-hee…

Elevenses with Igor

Rites of Dionysus, 4

Rite of Spring on: unseasonably

Pleasing accompaniment while

Sitting daringly naked with towel

To hand and an eye on my genitals

Ensuring they are not overexposed

To the sun.

Having been burnt before like this.

When the Rite is done

(less than thirty minutes)

Back indoors to lunch on cider and crackers,

And, gently creaming my largest organ.

It is the centenary of this Rite.

 

Sunday Papers

backyard

Middle-aged callow chants and chick pea stew.

Lukewarm Ointment smoothed in careworn lost eyes.

Hind-sighters rushing after scornful truth.

Saps still raking moon under the morning

Maple syrup

Hot Cocoa Car Reverie

Illustration from below book

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.

 

Quota

English: Fennel flower heads.

The Yellow Fish:

Finally ate,

heavily poached,

taken with fennel,

some soggy spinach

(the dregs of the day before yesterday’s green salad, the flies hate it),

a slice of linseed and creosote loaf,

found timidly lurking in the gripes of the breadbin

(thin slices of linseed).

No nausea is welcome, as always.

Roastling

The Vegetable Lamb of Tartary

Lamb berg ahoy!

Thar she bastes!

Sliver me ginger!

Source the mint!

Peptic Ulster

Um Ulster fry, nos arredores de Belfast. Ulste...

My father ,‘Aitch’, as I called him

for nuisance value, came from Ulster.

(Tyrone to be preciser. Dungannon

to be preciser still). Growing up, as you do,

it was clear the Ulster had troubles.

My father, who, as is stated above,

came from Ulster,

Tyrone to be preciser,

Dungannon to be preciser still.

Suffered from an Ulcer.

‘We have all got our crosses to bear.’

He told me on occasion.

Later it was strange to discover that an Ulster Fry

is very similar to a Full English

except with farls and other stuff.

Pardon

Listen ... Rape is a polictically volatile top...

‘What do you do when the muse shows up?

‘Hide the biscuits’

‘Huh’

‘Oh yes… stands to reason five months on the frozen tundra, hunters after ones antlers’

‘Syringe your ears’

‘Not yet’

‘What?’

‘You said Ginger nears’