Tag: Matisse



Who will be King of the Mountain?
The spurts and dramatic surges
come fast and furious
from behind the drunken camera,
red mist clouds mingle
obscure a bloated moonlit summit—
unclenched by rarefied daylight hours,
curtains pulled on damp khaki trousers
forelawn it lies the grasses billow,
a potted pear tree is quick felled,

Provenance: grown from seed
by lusty Cecelia it now lolls
flopped on the worn out bird table.
Nasty shock on awaits some
due to freakish start— bowels unmoved,
face unshaven, body stale as bread.
Suffered well earnt defeat on the board
snapped mixing with lower portholes—

that going over last night lingers, brushed aside
like the fly I brushed away
at the top of the knock off swelter
of my fish supper two days back now.
Who will be the king of the world—
not I today, not me.
too smart for the likes of me
stuck up a churchyard yew tree naked
as a birdman trying to figure out where
it all went so very wrong again — put it gown
to the form of the day birdbrain




what is this life if full

of care we have

no time to stare

and stare?

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Seven Books,
spider words,
snuffed snow
black candle.

A leeward window draft.
Please reprise the reprise.

Axminster Aztec
brick brown rug.

Time to go south,
flight to light.

There to remain in sunshine nights.
Mornings open doors to lazuli
lapping the boulevard.

Coy smell of fish, cognac, and coffee.

Dogs yelp gulls off:





‘…there he was sat, bold as brass, plain as day,

stone deadpan serious, as if he was my judge.

I ask you!

Bulling on about ‘the great doings & dones’

sounding like a brat bragging about

the darning of the sacred

socks of Nemesis… ‘

In short, one may conclude,

a blow by blow account

of how wind gets out the bag:

why the turtle turns turtle,

and the attributes of the perfect carrot.

It was to his credit that he chose

to demean himself to

the baying hordedlavishers

that dwelt upon every word ,

as if, perhaps, they were his last,


that they would get a mention in the will,

despatches, or the mind of God,

his father,

who was in heaven-by-the sea.

‘…By gum, though, he sported lovely, kind, peepers

and one of those whimsical smiles

that always give you a tingle in the dingle.

Herdsman, craftsman…

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