A Blute
Tried something ingenious:
no go.
It’s getting colder but still:
no snow.
What’s it to be tomorrow:
dunno.
Not the same as today is:
hope so
Grimbeau
Scroodles
Tag: Poem
December 2, 2013
All that’s fit to print…
Tom Daly comes out on you tube.
Has he a book out for Christmas?
Never liked him, smartass it seemed.
Could be a case of jealousy on my part,
but he always seemed
another cocky little bugger like
My Perfect Cousin –
Kevin the Div.
But, mind you, he was thrust
early into the public gaze;
like Shirley Temple, Judy Garland,
or the Daily Mail,
or grown up faces,
and apple sauce,
and Macaulay Caulking,
Micky Rooney, the Queen, and rusks.
Thinking about it
More like Zola Budd
Or Elmer Fudd
Perhaps.
The spectacle
Can be so fickle!
December 2, 2013
Blades
Today
Choppers dominate the news:
one fell on a Glasgow pub,
the others on Lee Rigby,
a squaddie who might have been
going to or coming from a pint.
He was in London in day light,
the Glasgow chopper fell on Friday night
December 2, 2013
Docking
Three days in port
and
crazy on land.
For all destinations are the same:
headlands and customs,
stations and cheap digs.
Over the way
Running round the park,
the leopards in the dark,
brushing our skin,
like dry, soft, well made
shaving brushes.
November 29, 2013
Family Resemblance
Seven brothers owned
seven separate farms:
while related,
they found themselves in quite
different fields
November 29, 2013
Scribbling
Gerunding…
Trembling: after shocked by writing this thing.
Abreacting plaything: underestimating the
Troubling power of saying your meaning.
Unnerving…
November 29, 2013
Nap
Event horizon out of sight
In dusk dissembling tobacco ochre
standard light.
I cannot see what is or is not to be.
Only others see hour hands slow down and catch
a halted final glimpse of this afternoon
November 26, 2013
Splat!
Night collapsed outside my window
to sprawl the garden
legs akimbo
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?
November 24, 2013
Lift
Above then is it?
In dreams dossing.
After noon front room
back window out: look.
Still
salivating no orchids
heart aches behind me
Head
Grimbeau 