fishbind
Grimbeau
Scroodles
Tag: Journal
October 14, 2014
The School of Varied Knocks
Soft knocks
To shut or open the Zen on the Art of Bridge,
Faust, Kafka – easy listening!
Getting my bearings, settling in, making a mess, feeling awkward.
The Bridge. I know this place well, too well. The scene of the crime, witness to disaster, base misdemeanours, sullied by cleansing agents, violated by animals, jumbled up, dumped on, dumped in.
The Bridge. Here dreams are born, and mares lived out. Stories of horses; hateful verses, grudging verses diluted. These are bad vibes. This time will be different, this is not a retreat. It’s a crucible, a temenos.
The Bridge. A place to prepare yourself in order to be yourself.
to shut or open the door at whim.
Knocks are needed to gain entry.
Hard knocks.
October 13, 2014
Brad the Impaler
Paling to significance,
Brad the Impaler, a pied butcher bird,
whistles a chirpy tune
(Imagine, if you will,
a melodic baritone
bicycle here)
and skewers a shrew for the barbie.
Life read and heard in tooth and claw,
one sighs through clenched teeth.
‘This is all the weather you get,
so you’d best enjoy it…Grrghh!’
says a balaclavad scimitar weatherman.
I will, I will!
Promise I will, croons Brad.
October 13, 2014
has the bird flown
Precocious as a pre-fab sprout,
Faron Young plus thirty-three.
The hour: the one before the darkest,
Clock the dour, prudent, tourist jurist
loping slowmo from zero to one,
distilling memento mori ad hoc.
Just like a Rigoletto really,
or a cigarillo nearly, huffing,
Puffing, somewhere in the night.
October 12, 2014
A Chattering
Despair? Moi, Nah.
Diamond
Despair says:
Some say Ebbohla
Others Eebohla…
What is it?
We are told nothing
Never, nevvah, no…
Self combusts
On Live Telly
I slip into
Warm solace
Light a fire
On the floor
Before me
Invention
Is the child
Of
Free play
October 10, 2014
Muse Snooze
Plenty to write
Nothing to say
Keep hanging on
Don’t go away
October 10, 2014
Captain Splash!
In the dead of night,
This time of year
Destiny has gone
Rhapsody is here
Melody always is
Singing like an angel
Because she is an Angel
Harmony’s a banshee
This time of year,
In the dead of night,
October 8, 2014
Three Omegas
Three smoked
Mackerel,
Black peppered,
Soused, left
On small plate,
Bucolic
Scenic scene
Innocents
Supper play
Or plate for
The smaller
Appetite.
three smoked fish
released from
vacuum cell
lay brown dead
Breached by blade
Ripped from
Chewy skin
Discarded
Flaked by hand,
Torn up by
keen talons
Ate by mouth.
October 7, 2014
Headcase Dreams
On old black chair
In candle glow,
Undershadowed
by the roundtable’s
Archway segment shade.
Young black dog, curled up,
picture book,
on old black chair.
A bit of eye open, yellow flicker,
slowly blinking, basking. Closed.
Lids move, quick, hunting, chasing,
Running, running, running.
Stop
Am I there?
Am I in it?
He wasn’t
In mine
October 6, 2014
Incubus Nouveau
Splurge urge, soggy gourd
Mulch and pulp, squash
Tomato, windy beans shrivel,
Drenched, trembling, gusts
Thus love came stealing
In sable, lunar night.
Grimbeau 