In the Cage
Descended:
queer, sad,
out of sync,
small talk
hard
and
porous:
Tumescent.
Filling time
Filling you.
Oberon
passing out.
Ate soft boiled,
flew a kite,
gargled, spat, and
ascended.
Grimbeau
Scroodles
Tag: Literature
March 1, 2014
Lines on my Mistress Snoring
There is pleasure sometimes
when the pain sleeps
rests its harpy’s head
on a nice warm lizard
but, promethean
is not a word
that springs to mind
when you are in flames.
This morning as I flood
Your drapeless windows
A body turns away
to hometown night
February 28, 2014
Panopticon
Ratfink fabulists!
His pursed crimson
lips made rainbows
kissed by fresh spring
Another new da Vinci exhibition,
The Last Sipper & other lesser Works,
Same faces, same places
But upside down.
‘Time, dark time,
Flowing by like a river.’
He shivered
Looking in the mirror.
‘How did I come
to give up
canonical grandeur to dally
in such quick-buck pranks…
What the hell am I
doing with
these theatre types,
for Chrissakes?’
Finkfab Ratulists!
February 27, 2014
Widdershins
This is it
Like a prairie
Far as you can see
One big
Bread Basket
Waiting to be cut down
Puzzles me sometimes
How they did it
In the old days
February 27, 2014
Pancake Day Dawns…
Sunny spells and gormless showers may pop-up,
Sure,
who knows what to expect?
Scattered,
varied temperatures throughout and persistent.
Staggered,
Meteorolological incertitudinals
Mindboggling,
The algorhythm of the Boolean
Windmaker
February 26, 2014
A Good Hiding Place
Nearly an hour later,
job done,
could be better
manicured,
hair free like the lawn.
Still there is no beating
waiting in the utility room
and there never was.
Just happened
to others-
still got scared
at the thought
of it.
We
never had a
utility
room.
February 26, 2014
Bills, bills, bills…
Love the smog, says Chuck, give it a $500 bill
Even if it only handles Three-Fifty.
Dedication is not enough:
Starve, go mad, anything
but Christmas and the Queen.
Decent, Open violence:
Heaven.
No guns or knives;
smart weapons, suicide bombers
can have it all too themselves:
Totally Assured Destruction.
Watch them, video game Field Marshals
play it on the beach, with the grandkids, at Christmas,
and watch The Queen inside smart shades.
February 24, 2014
Nice Day
Voices hear off. Who’s that?
Sotto voce, surely not…
Laryngitis? Going round.
Dan the Man,
very quiet, very soft.
Hard of hearing what?
Panic: King of Song breaks out!
Windows flung shut,
open air freshener
acrid Lavender.
Look out window, see blind woman,
shout hello, silly me
I can’t hear her, radio off,
mute mate shows up, funny looks.
Is it me or you? Tragic
You me: who we? Comic
Heads start to implode.
All I said: ‘Nice Day!’
watch blind woman talk away.
February 21, 2014
Haydreaming
Drowning in the noises of black sea beach,
Ruby boyhood daydream in the winter hall,
transported from dull to duller :
a February vacation.
Call them Martin and Matilda, twins with
no redeeming features, seven years,
staring out the tiny attic window
as the rain came down in bullet lines.
They peeped from the corrugated hay barn
across the weeded concrete.
In that black plastic was a mushroom of horsefeed,
ready to be given out.
They shared secret oilcake to settle the rumbling bellies,
gothic caverns, avenues blood lit and sumptuous.
I cut my nails and parts of me appear
to touch as if it were the first time.
They touch warm scuffed chromium, solid and secure.
A distant puck of patter,
and the churning buttermilk of linen stir and lapse,
contained by the shadow of muttercup.
February 21, 2014
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 