Grimbeau

Scroodles

Tag: Moon

Penumbra Forest Tours

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In wine we confuse

Confusing wine

Drinking health

Unhealthy drink

A knot wept: saw

Ariadne’s spool

Has me undone

Like snowflakes

in moonjuice

Concerto on Haydn

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Pretty bitty thoughts

Fragments glimpses flicks

Aboriginal origin

Spitting feathers…

 

Water, water, water sip

Quench drench slake

Insistent  chump

slurp cold coffee

milky way paddle

Still life outlined

Rotten russet pippin cox

Storm laden

Cold blowy vestibule

Unclear falling out take

Blue bed and breakfast table

 

My pomes of desperate mornings

Do nothing, don’t enhance

They are, boy nature in a crippled dance

The circus is no place for fools

 

 

 

Toad Moon

frisbee

 

palpable sea change

calypso ipso facto

red rum chronicles

beedling

epops

 

remember some

name

fell off

dark rock dead surface

third stone from a sun

inconspicuous absence

heart grew heavier,

colder somehow violet

gone but just

forgotten

do not kid yourself

we are disposable stardust

 

Vishusss…(hit me with a flower)

Luncheon With Eric

 

So we cut the abstract,

not like light or mayhem

See that, I missed it too

Perhaps it…no

Don’t fall for that

Luxury

Turn off the light.

Shan’t see now

Angels

 

This is you and me

Once immediate

Like a memory

Of

Important lightning

Captain Splash!

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In the dead of night,

This time of year

Destiny has gone

Rhapsody is here

Melody always is

Singing like an angel

Because she is an Angel

Harmony’s a banshee

This time of year,

In the dead of night,

Conkering

wordsmoke

Conkers Season!

 chestnuts

teeter,

Awaiting

Prep.

Schoolboy  chill

Rites:

Vinegar souse,

Slow bake,

Skewer,

Twine

Lynched

Dualists

With crash-hats
begoggled

thin lipped

Engage

In phantasm
Sodium light,

venal

& splenal

grey crows

stooping prowl,

Panther black
foraging
poachers grumble,
sniffing nuts

lamped
in dreek

Soft copse

Florin

throng

 

What’s the time on Dandelion?

Burning, yearning gravy waftings.

Wild Cries of joyful carwashers.

Five dimensioned rosehip cushes.

 

Who painted the lawn day-glow emerald?

A sporran in the night, a ptarmigan at dawn.

A creative with a sloppy bucket.

A mandarin blood orange.

Pelaton!

A woman crossing a stile after the flooding in the Thames Valley, December 1915

 

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

 

 

 

 

Rainbow Gift

Avocado

 

The moon is a rock,

a rock that drives the tide.

The affairs of men

must heed the tide.

 

An old Moon woman told me that,

I didn’t listen,

talking in runes

I concluded.

 

But the tide in the affairs

of this man

left me high and dry

waiting for a new moon.

 

Sat marooned, sat in the offing,

bobbing in the

Sea of Tranquillity.

Another man in the moon.

 

We are a close knit

community,

keep ourselves to ourselves

as much as we can.

 

Sometimes when the sun’s

brute sirocco blasts things go haywire,

but you got to take the rough

with the smooth sometimes,

 

whether you remember

the smooth or not.

 

 

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