Post! I did one, mummy.
Then get cleaned up and
come down for your breakfast,
I’m in charge, you are being
told to obey, to be good
to not let the side down.
To do your very best
Give one hundred percent
Already you have found out that
blood is thicker than water,
but you don’t know what it means
Kiss my fetid arse, he mock Royal Family chortled,
and muttered chagrined at the Shrewsbury Six,
the Famous Five, and the silver sixpence
he always found coz he kept it in his waistcoat pocket.
He won’t get it this year. After all, it’s just
a feastday afternoon in the middle
of deep, dark december- a bit of fun.
So riot and dissemble, be not alone,
think of the others who have mice for family,
dining daintily on nice nibbles while
fellow peasants crave more presents and
pudding. So much to do and so little
time. Time to get it right. Just right. Surely,
that’s life after all is said and done.
A fuss about nothing, just sage & thyme
stuffing around since this time last year,
a plateful of woe, a glass full of tears.
And Uncle Norman’s toast.
Bless him.
‘Glaze your arses and roast myrhh hadyustate!
Cheers, my hearty farties,
don’t’ let it get you down,
tart it up in coriander,
and offer up your crown.’
In
Seamless
Sleep
I saw you
Gallivanting
A
Sumptuous
Blaze
consumed me
Juvenating
the wake
Tuned in, turned off, turned on, turned up, turned puce…
Mother Goose, Aladdin, and Buttons
glaring at me like thunder.
`Prey, what ails thou Panto-types?` I seasonalled.
`A flagrant breach of protocol, that’s what!’ said Goose, irate, pacing.
`Cinders is a tard! Whittington’s a dachshund! The ugly sisters are ants! Need I continue?` Buttons stormed with absurd pomp.
‘My lamp is empty.` Aladdin wailed.
`I do not see what it has to do with me.` I said with modesty and aplomb.
`Just typical,’ Goose tutted, `will no one take responsibility ?`
…
Luck to get out of their alive,
I tell you, slipped out
when the Bovril lady came,
via the sink, town drain,
and Alaskan tundra to here.
Thumbnail One:
`The Twiglet and Cheeseball.`
Up at the crack of doom and so it pours,
acrid quicklime, gregarious sash window,
drone buzz, sable confetti, nasal toot,
sootfall, gasp, volume, mass. What folly, what
pulchritude, what bafflement. Life was a
giant veiny nose, a red herring, a
wanton flop. So be it. Que Sera, Sera.
Horace Day, Matt Busby, James `The Fact` Durante…
pock dugout, dabbed down and dusted copious
cloud of potassium permanganate,
spotlighted by Lazarus, light reveals
white head and lost tribe of Erin: Quilty’s Pals.
Stop making scents,
tincture your sphincter with
perfidious salve,
snort pulverised juniper,
sweat quinine ampules…
another one soon
stifled in shallow,
lifeless cant.
Too late for love,
like the vestibule
catastrophe nook.
A broken swan
negotiating
burning boats,
safe in a synthesized,
furless chrysalis.
To dotage an
antidote:
threat & hope
weave and knit
a knot
night of dark
sun
measly done
think if you
fit in to fit
pre-shrunk
siege modality,
a beige mentality
the new banality –
Temporality
chill,
wet first frost
rest thin little
finger on a pin,
four wet angels
shimmer
in
salt
spill
kept from the saddle by sleep and cider,
nestled in this cluttered room, this dimlit
hibernation station, wallow fallow in
the gathered gloom, the afternoon moon
this is the time for those who dream in daytime,
those who gather and hunt, those who like me
watch from windows, making shade from shadow,
form from substance, the things that dreams are made on.
Food and sleeep…plenty sheep,
mission creep, wake in heap,
hot as hades, full of faeces,
dogs got scabies, I got rabies,
woke up screaming,
toxic dreaming,
brutal creaming,
search for meaning,
diagnosis,
clear neurosis
Grimbeau 