Shoulder roller
Savonarola
swimming backwards
In shirt infested waters.
Pause for Jaws:
Basking post-prandial,
Replete of:
Bellyful of Quint,
skinny dipper,
Stray Daytripper,
clumsy nipper.
My luck is in!
Time to try
Some butterfly
The power set at constant max
Mind’s Eye emerges from start surge to
pure pace
A golden arrow flashes darting past.
Lee J Cobb. Wrong Cobb. Donald?
No, that was Campbell.
Google it, live & learn.
Pull the search engine up,
load it with a boulder, wind it up, and release.
Downwind we hear
no screams or impact
As if it never happened
After Sylvester evensong, Loyola piped up:
‘Out with the Pianola!’
And
(As Nasturtiums have for donkey’s years)
We were ready to kick out the jambs
The Easter Lambs & heaven could wait a quarter
Priscilla the Pig, our Abbot, dressed as Emile Zola
Got the ball rolling with the much lauded Tombola.
A fine thing, like some tradition,
The Tombola of the Tropaeolum:
We put our Bull into a hat
Pull out the winner
And a new year
Doctrine is chosen
A fresh true rumour
To add to the credo
This is followed by
A game of sardines
An eternal favourite
Galactic dawn,
wet as water:
Ponds ’r’ Us!
Like a mucky duck
the weatherman
walks on warm, thin ice,
looking up anxiously
Sees
serene green scene
creams obscene
at tulips pouting,
kind epileptic fish,
sanguine potholed saucepans
latterday Saturday vertebrae.
Endless list: catalyst.
We swoon,
shrug it off,
embrace
&
turnover leaves
When I once sat upon a bench
I felt that I was almost French
Stories swim amorphous, like Chagall sprites:
teasing & taunting, winding me rightup,
shitty harpies, chicken livers, shit lilies,
pallet knife smears, chaff and ribwort, fly blight,
wormcast, hot iron in the hole.
Answer: stop poetising, not everything.
Opaque craving: not waving, just raving.
Lunchlines. Lasagne to go; no salad leaves!
All are suspects. Whatdunnit? Poison milk,
Croak & Crosswell. Condensed gift:
dilute & quaff off this myrtle quoit.
Late, great Spooner. Leave oxtail by town drain.
Quit the spritz, Turd policeman.
Bottom inspectors of the world: ignite!
Social lurkers, shadow shams. Now you see:
Now! You donut. Dream of scrumptiousness,
crack of doom. Dunderhead heard: Thunderbird said:
“Five minutes & we’re almost there.”
the easy way out dogs my every step –
I call it Slobbo.
It is a shadow,
reeks of burgers and pickles,
farts and burps at will,
drinks like a trooper,
smokes like a fish.
it is white at night.
it sings, shouts, and staggers then.
I watch it from my
silken hammock
fuming
Up it is:
dithered, dawdled, dallied.
Barnes out: Barnes in.
Door shut and locked.
Took pills,
tectonic shift,
Subterranean Bogseat Blues.
Poohs.
Ah-aarghs.
It’s Alive!
groaning, churning, burning.
Awakenings: pondlife.
Crawling vision.
POV:
Thing gropes
Pathless:
mud, reed, slime, sludge
for warm, dry land.
Slow as a Boa.
Protozoa.
Rain, sultry rain.
Opaque grapes,
leaden sky fruit,
burst on copious,
oil dark
plush olive,
swooning,
spaded,
luscious leaves.
Three chirrup
kaleidoscope toucans
tenderly engage
a dopey puffin then
hunker down within
the livid dense canopy
to share a light
repast of slender wafers
over a convivial round
of knock out whist.
Tuesdays,
no matter the weather,
is Housey-Housey,
a rainforest favourite
throughout the ages.
Beastlings from yards
Around always
Attend
Fickle
Shadows
Juggle
quick, startling sun spores
A spook of
Ions
Coalesces
to unveil
Jasper Bush
Grimbeau 