Minds Meet
Thank-you
Mr
Borges:
after all,
what you wrote,
sent me
off
scroodling.
Grimbeau
Scroodles
Tag: People
March 4, 2014
Vanity Fayre
Bekka was shocked,
horror stricken
by the gossip
about the tappings.
She was after all
human and while
not a mother
a woman.
So were
Excreta Bourgeois
and Nutella Divan.
Both met a sticky end in cake and catarrh…
black and white bile,
flaccid acid wit,
tweet of brevity,
a probe is announced.
So is all untruth flogged,
like a dead horse.
March 2, 2014
Ambergrise
Five, ten to…
Poetry Please!
The sky darker,
rain and nightfall,
alone all day,
from others apart.
Do I want to see a picture of your brother’s damaged face?
No need to ask.
Friday’s rice and chicken stew is had,
now it sits on
three bags of crisps,
one ready salted (red),
the other cheese & onion (blue),
and a banana.
I have a funny taste in my mouth,
not bawking,
just savoury
salt belly draft.
Tomorrow a friend will find out how much
left foot he has, well, left.
Afghanistan beat Bangladesh at cribbage.
Gave up on Vertigo and came up here to die.
Another victory for common sense.
Failed again.
February 28, 2014
Panopticon
Ratfink fabulists!
His pursed crimson
lips made rainbows
kissed by fresh spring
Another new da Vinci exhibition,
The Last Sipper & other lesser Works,
Same faces, same places
But upside down.
‘Time, dark time,
Flowing by like a river.’
He shivered
Looking in the mirror.
‘How did I come
to give up
canonical grandeur to dally
in such quick-buck pranks…
What the hell am I
doing with
these theatre types,
for Chrissakes?’
Finkfab Ratulists!
February 26, 2014
A Good Hiding Place
Nearly an hour later,
job done,
could be better
manicured,
hair free like the lawn.
Still there is no beating
waiting in the utility room
and there never was.
Just happened
to others-
still got scared
at the thought
of it.
We
never had a
utility
room.
February 24, 2014
Nice Day
Voices hear off. Who’s that?
Sotto voce, surely not…
Laryngitis? Going round.
Dan the Man,
very quiet, very soft.
Hard of hearing what?
Panic: King of Song breaks out!
Windows flung shut,
open air freshener
acrid Lavender.
Look out window, see blind woman,
shout hello, silly me
I can’t hear her, radio off,
mute mate shows up, funny looks.
Is it me or you? Tragic
You me: who we? Comic
Heads start to implode.
All I said: ‘Nice Day!’
watch blind woman talk away.
February 23, 2014
Laddies who Lunch
13:13
The familiar guest is here, bearing honey.
She has been through much to be here just now.
No powdered purgative prevented her,
temptation flopped, nothing but nothing kept
her from this preordained destination,
on this day, at this time, in this place: now.
February 17, 2014
Events, Dear Boy…Events
Lunchtime
News about the news:
Observe basking sharks,
lost lopsided lilies,
slumping in the lagoon
pump waters from people’s homes
busy Nessies, little lochs,
tiny monsters of the shallows.
Waterlogged logs sink from sight,
nervous wrecks shiver
in Lazy Bones’ Locker.
No way, Jose!
Smart Alec McMackerel.
Wessex is the wetland of Alba.
Let it drown.
Paint your bum blue.
Join us: Stay dry.
See Soggies flood North in droves.
Border turnpike takes groats only.
Frack Ben Nevis.
Rip off Groatland.
Yawn. Nodding off…
Done in after all the sleep and squatting…
bills, deeds, duties, musts,
cant’s, coulds, shoulds, woulds;
daydawdledoodles.
Doze snooze nap?
And why not?
Afternoon off again…Tut, tut, tut.
February 5, 2014
Moniker Called By…
Chatting small, enduring twaddle and passing comment on the news,
the wonderful weather, Ents and death trances, and
recent sightings of drunken old muckers puking on poodles
Every so often there are smartphone snapshots of dormant pets,
a dinner dance after a few, a flying saucer over Tesco’s,
the paddling pool in the back garden, and some baby humans.
During tales of goings-on in times past, the clock is seen, nattering over.
Down to brass tacks: hoovering, bed-making, tidying, graft, filling in forms.
Today I am torn between Albert Camus or Kermit the Frog: I sign ‘Dean Martin.’
November 25, 2013
Remote
Limpid, floating fragments fill mind’s sky,
cotton clouded heavens obscure blue
firmament.
A good boy enjoys a sock on the carpet,
Heavy sighs.
Unmet, unseen life probably goes on outside
(I’ve heard persuasive reports on my radio,
pictures on the shiny electric signs,
indigo screens, and from droppers-in).
How distant is the edge of remote
Anyway?
Grimbeau 