Chores
Pocahontas purged
her armadillo shack,
watered Chaz the Buffalo
only pausing for
Elevenses
so soon:
Mondays!
Same old…
Same old…
Grimbeau
Scroodles
Tag: Home and Garden
June 22, 2014
Sunday Worship
Post pinball full English:
Bratwurst, sautéed tatties, eggs
Fried smoked bacon slices
Baked beans and love apples.
There was also buttered toast
Father, son, and holy ghost.
June 22, 2014
The Zest Fest
Get this thrill
Be no martyr
No Sidhartha
Spill no beans
Midsommer
Green scene
Thunder peel
June 20, 2014
Fitzcaraldo
Lunchtime.
Chilly when the sun goes plug
Ate bits of last night.
Took my drugs.
Green Cold Amber.
Sun in and out.
Epiphany!
Garden excursion with coffee and cheroot.
Stare at puffy blue song swan vistas.
Make an inventory!
A gossamer feather, white as the lamb;
a cutting crowded rusty burner
(By-law say no burning till seven
on dint of death by fire; A plethora of flies.
Cut my Leg? Crimson Orinoco.
The expedition returns to base.
Bloodied but unbruised.
May 24, 2014
Rope a Dope
And that, so it was, till now.
The journal arises
on Whitsun Saturday after a prolonged
jojourn in the land of the tetrahedrons,
inspelled by inchohol (how are things in inchaholy?),
in the leantime a beggar become,
so injured the risk of recovery is
now a threat, like church twice on Sundays,
or school
anyday
April 18, 2014
Forethought…Paws
Smart,
smug Smart Alec sat,
soiled by ibex ordure,
popping vindicates
at established fates.
Marquis de Plonqueur
Mozart Violet echoes
conch in Sea.
All is stop.
No ghosts,
(One did look!)
The door!
Is that a dog?
Would it, could it be?
Back from killing conies,
flushing out fat farm rats,
haring up hills,
racing gannets on the strand.
Yes, don’t be silly,
it was here,
it was her.
Fresh as the icy, blue zephyr,
that bid me: ‘How are Ye?’
April 17, 2014
Barney the Bolt
Jim brings
legal dose,
two bags full,
the dog bolts
the open gate;
found basking,
break dancing
on the rec,
chewing a rhea;
waiting for
a vacant swing,
some spare rib,
to be fetched back
here.
April 17, 2014
DIY
Crimson Cuprinol,
sand fence,
cure and enjoy.
Rude
Health is
wealth,
all the bells ring
and whistles blow,
Geronimo…!
April 16, 2014
Vigil
Fuck me, afternoon choir!
Get out and get at it.
Wait…yes, an
Easternwind.
Just clout on.
Naked:
To the truth exposed!
Catch your death
Outside in that.
Stay in, smoke tabs,
keep warm and safe
from the Garden
Midnights.
April 15, 2014
Compost Heapos
Great Allotments of Albion yield up
sweet pea & radish.
The bearded mates look maddish
and lose well
the first challenge, woody, blemished
offerings get scant consideration from the judge,
old before his time, made over for the telly.
A sex god with a perverse
glint in his eyes
when he says ‘the last thing we want to see
is a drooping sweet pea.’
He knows, you know
Grimbeau 