Give me a groat and I’ll emote on hope and faith, and craic
Should you not meet me on the way, you can on the way back
From hollow land and silly land, to form and sound, and black
The song you hear will be our own and never will shirk or jack
Too good to be true, too simple to work, you say inside your head
That tapping on the roof you hear, is rhapsody robbing the lead.
Lanolin folded cream
Rolled ploughed furrowed
Clouded brow field
Sky blue food dye filling,
one indigo dropped in a sea
of sky goes miles
Insuck ouch
It bites that wind
Just looking at it
Seated by a throbbing rad
Savaging a trembling bramble leaf
Petrifying a bare twig
Starching stiff the black tent top
And fruity pastel bin and body bags
The fat drawers and winding sheets
Creaking next door’s line
Seven up, up, up
crucial wooden stairs ascent
to Disburthenshire
point six recurring
terminal velocity did
what it said on tin
Vibe changes sundown
Clustered scapples save the day
White wine weds olives
Anglepoised action stations
Awaiting further information
To impart to my reader
Zelda ‘Toots’ Zuchenslooper
A dogged fighter
Carniverous wolverine
Hypercyclically disposed
Tea and oranges
Look! gurgling gargoyles
grotesquely gurning gargling
blistering mouthwash
Cleaned up as
best I wanted,
feeling slumpish,
taddish offish.
Make a wishlist!
Worst it can do
is not come true
if you’re careful.
The glums are dripping,
grumbling swamp gobs.
I have just done
more this morning
than all weekend.
Ghost revealed his hairy hand,
trimmed his balded pate,
gave himself the willies,
curled up before liars on telly,
waiting on next second wind
to fumigate the fuggers.
No shedding today,
the ring is barren
twenty two winter sheep
pock the tufty meadow
Still grazing after all these years
Mutton full of vibrant lamb
Gabriel scowls, forlorn as a kid
Who never had a household pet
Still radio silence fills the barn
You can hear the hay
Insinuating rumours
Nits!
Bacon, egg & jungle sarnie,
two bags ready, and an early banana –
that’s my lot, plus crash sleep
(an hour maybe).
Scrubbed scrammed black mirror hob:
Bit of ritual to settle my nerves,
my confusion at that van out there,
and that nagging
constant distant
roaring machine
behind the sky.
Wednesday afternoon
As savants well know
is never certain & could hang either way.
You never know, you just like to pretend.
Grey paint is my usual,
matted not glossed,
ruffled and talced
certainly not groomed
by Governess Pecheur.
Her mild odour
Cologne and cat nip
perverts my lust for
kedgeree and fauve cheeses
Grimbeau 