The
fragmented head surveys itself
quick clips of a factive dream.
The
perspective is from below.
It is indoors.
The
street scene is frugal,
the sky is blue.
The
feeling is anxious
A pressing engagement.
The
train is soporific,
uncomfortable
The
taxi rank is fresh, niggly,
and jumpy.
The
taxi journey is relief
detachment pause
The Antiques Roadshow
A shock ending.
Scrimmed Femur
The
ending is exhausted, querulous.
Sunlit indifference abounds
Speedwell.
Headache,
Gerund,
a nap till PM, which is now – Holy Cow!
Another Independence Day ends
One man Bob.
On the mad ship dodgy gut
It’s a cheap trip to Doolali Tupp
You won’t get far on carrot
And a multigrain bar
Roll me a coffee,
pass me a tab,
and a biscuit too,
celebrate the comedy of yesterday,
Groucho, Panto, Kong and Fay Wray
“We have to remember that what we observe is not nature in itself, but nature exposed to our method of questioning.” – Werner Heisenberg
Sunshine after rain.
One will come soon.
So…Relax, wind down,
Never mind
it was just
The usual let you downs.
Then…Inflate, blow up,
Never mind
it was just
the usual pink suspects:
Six blind elephants from
The Flat Man .
Six is a number for elephants.
Elephants is not a number.
She was known to have the wrong name,
(a clerical faux pas committed by Gerald
While eating a falafel after a
Good bollocking from Mrs. Godzilla
for being late in again.)
The corpse lived at No Fixed Abode
as did Wallace Pidgeon
the woman with her real name,
who rented the cellar.
It was all too much for Geraldine,
So, she just rifled the personal effects
for good pickings,
secreted them in the shallow,
nylon pocket of her too tight tunic,
pulled the sheet over the head,
and checked for recent texts.
Soo
blue dew
True
blue dew…
Ooo!
How do you do
Do-da-do-da-day
Eh
You
As new must shoot.
Cheerio
Toodlee-ooo
Horse whispers,
sees red
bucks,
clears picket fence
scarpers
heels for dust
finds a new
stamping ground.
Seems sound:
Safe and sure
As houses
Go a good brisk clip
‘Are you the captain, the crewman,
the passenger, the vessel,
the ocean?’
Chance is Lord of All!
Metaphoric…
Metamorphic…
Metarapchik…
Metamonster!
Gorgeous Krakens
and other deep creatures
engulf us
disguised as waves.
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.
The fruit of my labour
so far today
Sits over in a
Modest plastic bag
Amidst other items,
It is well
out-of-the-way,
conveniently
located.
‘Shifting Metaphor’ the bag reads,
inscribed
in very gooseberry green above
The
Iconic bitten fruit (an apple?).
A wasp draft flicks it,
it tumbles giddily and
comes to rest
On a too full
smudged yellow
pedal bin,
I explode
My fruits are strewn
all
over the scintillating,
brick-red non-slip
Linoleum.
Howling now
I watch them perish,
wither and vanish,
delight
full tiny
Twinkles
Marasmus done
the voided quasars
dance quick,
nimble polkas to dash
the conic lampshade
So,
like Orgones
and
reason do –
We Sleep
Demi-stool on Piddle, flushed out, so now bathe
Soily scaly paws. Smite it! By my gum,
perfumed ovoid amber tablet glued to basin shock.
Rubbed it long nice & hard by flannel for
blotch and crud scrub of digit, knuckle and palm.
Knuckle and nickel? Puckle the pickle of muckle,
Sterling winkles, no bawbees. Groat Scottie!
No wonga, not none. Yaboo-sucks states slimy,
Snide curling chippy poundwinker toffboy.
Grimbeau 