Sublime
What bliss is this?
Sea becomes vapour,
drowns now and then,
bobs up, splays fluke,
blows hole, meals mouth,
dives deep, backs down
Grimbeau
Scroodles
Tag: Poem
September 11, 2013
Bugsplat
Waiter!
Bugsplat the soup it’s toxic and orange.
Deft, nimble, fleet of foot, cunning as Ariel,
Waiter swoops and swats the soup.
Everyone is splattered and grumble.
Did you get it, did you get it?
Yes, they got it. Look at them leg it
For the turnstiles.
September 10, 2013
Rite
So,
we
offer up
these
well-prepped
ants testes
to you
gods
of the
firm
ament
for
the
fecund
ditty
of this our
crop of love
age.
Be nice
for this
once,
we
have grown
tired
of
September 10, 2013
Daulis Defile
Near One
Undone
You won
Old Son
September 8, 2013
Candid Chimera
Last Night of…
extreme dreams,
stark monochrome fluid,
freeway floral wallpaper,
rotting damasks, shillelagh,
almonds and formaldehyde.
White light, white sheet.
Jammin’ Jerusalem
Jute wailing bunnies.
Then,
exhausted from the lie-in:
cobalt clear still sky
flossed with high flying drifts,
orchestras of demi-gods trail
home spent.
We scavenge the tepee for beans,
celebrate love apples with libations of strong coffee,
and weep and fear for the band snakes,
Asian gators, and tigers on the fridge, hiding behind
the fabric conditioner, still ready to pounce on sleepy
Moorhen’s eggs.
Your runnin’ and
your runnin’ and
your runnin’ away
from yourself.
September 7, 2013
Pedal Extremes
Go barefoot,
unstockinged or socked,
as often as you can!
Even if
like me
you have
grotesquely twisted gnarled toes,
suppurating scabby nightmares,
wear your feet with pride.
Feet are wonderful,
if you have some
Flaunt them
September 7, 2013
Lassitude, Come Home!
When tempted to run for pinball
do yoga breathing, stand on your head,
and whistle down the wind,
play games
with lazyitis, and why not!
The grizzly nonsense of dossy
dissipation, the thin dry horse
tethered to the crossbar outside
The Molten Slipper Saloon
disaster’s old recipe
Table on the meal when you get
Back home if you have
got a home at all.
September 3, 2013
Troubadours
On an oil sheet that hummed of bog,
we watch for the tide to be right and
the fires on Spike Island to cease.
In the corner shop we scrounged bread and cheese
and were told the ‘the borstal boys had been busy again’.
So waiting for relief from the relief
of the Southferry road I sat under
the wide sky of Ringaskiddy exposed
to the gaze of passing motorists, uniforms
and other gawkers amusing a bitter scallion
My fellow penniless wanderer joined the free library
and returned with a copy of ‘Death of a Naturalist’,
which we took turns at reading aloud
to fill the time and that of other idlers.
At the same time a bomb stopped
a ticking clock in the North.
August 24, 2013
Nessum Dorma
In the names of gods and sods,
we all perish.
Unlike the giant sink spiders, who,
like Andy duFrais,
made it via drain,
to bask in cool,
silver basins,
asylums,
and bathe in the tumult
of the morning tap tsunami.
Kettle on,
wipe and flush
the mushrooms.
Trousers round
lifeless ankles.
The shame of it!
The shame.
Baby safe in the microwave:
Suffocated. Cars meander still
slate dead drivers slowmo halt
in open sewer.
Ringa ringa roses…
Today,
some place in Shetland,
an upside-down helicopter on sand.
A phone rings, it is my doctor.
He say: ‘I will be late.’
‘Okay’, I say, ‘so will I’.
August 20, 2013
Cat’s Eyes
As I was working on my stare
I saw a man who was not there
He wasn’t there again today
I wish my stare would go away
Grimbeau 