Yipes!
Yipes!
Either
the desk is higher
Or
the chair is lower.
One or both,
Or…
I am smaller.
Eek a squeak!
A Diva dives
A yappy, fledgling chirrups:
‘Where’s my grubs?’
‘Downunder.’
I call
From my eggshell
Grimbeau
Scroodles
Tag: Home and Garden
February 15, 2014
Wild, Wild Night
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.
February 12, 2014
The Golden Age of Scuba
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.
February 1, 2014
Vanishing Point
Hungry bard.
Tub of lard.
Ate the Shard
& Gherkin.
PC Mod.
Lazy sod.
Missed him.
He was shirkin’.
January 27, 2014
Gerund One: Desperandum Nil
And so it was below
to early evening telly
and braindeath,
the curtains are drawn,
the room ill lit
by an old standard lamp:
grey ochre and stale air.
Wild Arabia, Wild China, Wild West Wind…
Pain, Pus, and Poison.
Appetite lost.
Nearly out of smokes.
A bag of ready salted does.
I hang on watching people talking about art:
what’s on, what’s good, what’s what,
and lay down my sword
Til tomorrow
December 23, 2013
Shut
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.
December 16, 2013
Jape
Subscribe: Free Calendar! A year in Sing-Sing.
Habeas corpus or what? Amnesty.
Ethical gift to salve the conscious conscience.
Place on cardboard coffee table to catch
the eyes of passers-by, nod frownfully
in silent solace, go wild ape and shout:
‘Owzat!’
Then, from red animate to grey plausible go
do your best sepulchral Arlott:
‘Calendar caught Eye bowled Jaffa.’
November 26, 2013
Splat!
Night collapsed outside my window
to sprawl the garden
legs akimbo
November 22, 2013
Jock Frost
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.
October 30, 2013
Catching Up
Trudgin through a drift of skinbits, a clock
Appeared:
‘Zoot alors!’ I exclaimed, realising that the clocks
had changed.
What was once a mongoose was now a goose.
‘Non dieu!’ I exclaimed.
How time flies.
‘Au contraire, mon nambulist!’
Said a clock.
Grimbeau 