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
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.
So, nine to fervour underway
Make a list in mind,
A must not
To do list,
So, no list
Empty list.
Instead,
Go flowing with Brenda,
tickle salmon,
provoke Diogenes
&
smile at Joni Mitchell
floating down moon rivers
on a carousel of time
Act your age
Not your
Shoe size
What! I said
Two thousand
Five hundred
Millimetres
Halfway out
mauve porch
some sun decides
to join the party
bins are emptied
rain wet ramp,
hick brick Ha-ha
under tree detritus.
Here
Jackson Pollack
Frolicked once.
In the dry, damp dust,
scattered with cinnamon twigs,
silver Simeon stones,
and missionary weeds,
A mandrake sighs.
He’s up, he’s up…
he’s down again
Like a yoyo,
a rat up a pump
Or a fiddler’s elbow
Not coming
Nor going
Just up to…
What?
The day after the day after wholesale slaughter flyblown autumn gossamer persists stubborn as winter rowan becomes tonight more trash to incinerate sweet horse chestnut We endure stale lavender All the greens become obscene rude yellows stark enchanted azure No chance of heaven at eleven. As in the black night a certificated medic calls to say: Life goes on without us then just like glimpses promptly disappears
Ate and was
on my own
faraway
lackaday
blownaway
Comfy Love?
Big thing asks
me questions – why?
Windshine
Shush-hours
Perfection!
Quote…Unquote follows
So do I?
Yes, I am cold.
How did you guess?
So, to bed after
food and fumigation.
The heavens
piss stones.
An internet crashes.
I get up
A head of steam
radio
The first of the few,
the last of the many,
the next or
the runner-up,
the second last bar none
the rising of the moon
at the setting of the sun
under cypress shadows
wise chrysanthemum
the whisper of the sea
around the balustrade
the whistle of the sea
cast me in this mystery?
this is the
start of history
a whisper of the sea,
around the balustrade.
Grimbeau 