Gaspers
Morrow
Whine
Concubine
&
Sultana:
Sultans
Pull on
Woodbines
&
Inhale
Passing
Clouds
In
Silk
Pyjama
Grimbeau
Scroodles
Tag: Poem
January 18, 2015
When Laestrygonians Attack!
Save that, Patroclus!
It’s
Midday plus
five.
Hazy Sunday afternoon.
Luncheon?
Fishcakes & ptarmigan droppings.
Not again,
Pen
What happened to the marmoset wellington?
The Ogres, I suppose.
Eyes bigger than their stomachs, those lads.
Gluttons with mutton.
Ask Old Shep.
January 18, 2015
True Rumours
The year is shaping,
form finds content in
mulch and gunge,
from primal gloop comes novelty
Everything assumes a name:
Rose, Spud, and Daisy to name but three.
And this year’s offspring: Prim, Tatty, and Iris.
Pleasant thoughts to have for sure.
Looking forward to plenty more.
Signs of hope…
Bang!
I kid you not.
The dog just barked.
Here’s the cops.
January 17, 2015
Quirkies
Apollinaire wore underwear
de la Mare wore trunks
Ogden Nash liked ganache
Ezra Pound fed Monks
January 17, 2015
After Bathing at Baxter’s
Dusk’s here (round half four),
falling to a soundtrack:
Jumpin’ Jive,
Cab Calloway.
1943
Cab?
Must be short for something.
All I can think of just now is
Cabellero
though I have no faith in it.
Surely, no-one would be called Cabin,
or Cable.
Not for a first name anyway.
Well, I’ll go to the foot of our stars!
It is Cable.
Spelt Cabell.
Something to do with cowbells?
Perhaps.
January 17, 2015
Woodland
If you go down
to the woods today
you’re bound to
bump into
some trees
January 17, 2015
Hero
Robert Desnos
Read
My
Palm
January 17, 2015
Benny the Boxer
Gremlins can piss
on the Pope
best not do
it on his
Mother
January 16, 2015
Orininoko Home
Out of the long grass came the snake:
An
Anaconda.
Microchipped
By Bear Grills.
That’s why here –
Orinoko Crescent, Swindon…
GPS!
Last week:
The Piranhas
…
Somedays it rains wonder.
Not this one…
Gaslessness: a bad start.
Sleeplessness: played its part.
Fecklessness: sad old fart.
Is there money still for tea?
January 16, 2015
Chatanooga Chu-chu
There we are.
Banged one out, as they say;
never mind who. They do.
Whomsoever this they is.
I do not know…
She fibbed.
And she knew that I knew too.
If you want to find out, like I do, call her at:
Pennsylvania 65000.
I can’t get through.
The reception is dreadful
in this carriage.
Perhaps I’ll try the caboose
after luncheon.
Grimbeau 