Grimbeau

Scroodles

Tag: Poem

Drawbacks of Cartesian Dualism #1: The Hatstand Syndrome

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Each night after

Unscrewing your head

And resting it down

on your surrealistic Pillow

Make a vow

To replace it

On your neck

Before you

Get up

Spooks

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Autopilot showed

outrageous overnight stats

800 hits

Candescence

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When

everything

is said

& done

then what?

Eh!

The Currency of Fibbing

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Obscure

slipped by

Oblivion

 

Sly old fox

Getting away

With it again.

 

All those lies

We get away

With.

 

where do they

end up?

 

Green lies will

Bio-degrade, I suppose.

 

White ones are

Good lies so

That’s okay.

 

Others just litter

And soil the place

 

Some really hurt,

Like bee stings

And bashings

 

And Truths

 

 

 

 

 

 

She Dog Night

water#1

 

One o’clock post-kip

Alarm!

Instigates

a comedy of coffee;

a droop-eyed facile post;

a headful of Cape Cod radio snow,

and then the dogs, the raucous curs,

yelping all night long, warning off,

repelling stalking predators, slumber,

stray sleep-walking creditors.

 

Then some sleep,

but just itchy, tetchy bits and pieces, tosses and turns.

And the waiting. The waiting for the barks to resume.

 

Now comes the

car doors, the revving of early birds

off to the Smoke to do the night thing.

Obey.

…changed into a pair of deckchairs &

a faded purple clout having toed the line

between night & day, summoned (you guessed)

by dogs.

 

A stumbling, humbling, grumbling

shower at glumrise,

 

heavy lead heavens above –

the best place for heavens,

I find.

On the Whole

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Baal

elephant boy

 

the lord is

my shepherd:

i shall not

budge

 

Flight of Fancy#56

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To thine

own self be

shrew, blue, new, yew, few,

crew, glue, true, Sioux, flu, two…

anything you fancy

Really

Tulling

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Sufficient

unto the

day

the seed

drills

thereof

 

 

 

The Dread Aftermath of Naked Gambolling

dancers

 

yet another

clam-bake

funday

a diddle-dee-dum day

a sufficiency of sun day

a my god what have I done day;

subsequently,

red raw

Bum Day

Pushbike

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Sudden as love it’s eight thirty.

Two & a half hours faffabout

oiling  de railleur on rusted bikes;

clearing the drain with willow and prunes;

mumbling out of turn on the chain gang.

Serene cupidities conspire

Wilfully, making sense sensitive.

 

 

Hours with feet up.

Doing the log thing.

Eight a night

Five a day

For a week

 

Brown and sultry planning permissions

Granted! Today we sail on Braintree.