Late afternoon,
an afternoon flouted,
another one.
Cooked a scrumptious
Stilton omelette.
Ate it.
Listened to Elvis.
The wonder of you.
Wondered.
Repeatedly beaten
by a Turtle.
Roamed the garden
finding fault.
Paused
For thought
Got caught
Nowt kicked off (or so I’m told)
The sad old Sun still tries
to muscle in
break out, break in…
and have you heard?
The latest scandal,
the last straw:
No buses to Mortgagetown on Sundays
(and Bank Holidays)…
And there’s more…
No peas for the wicked,
It is rumoured
the pigs had them with the lobster.
No respect, these types.
Dyslexics with a read only memory,
they say,
lack self-knowledge.
Read and
right and wrong.
He’s up, he’s up…
he’s down again
Like a yoyo,
a rat up a pump
Or a fiddler’s elbow
Not coming
Nor going
Just up to…
What?
Cheroot smoke
plumes and wisps
Effigy, Eulogy, Ecstasy…
Bingo!
In Thames Ditton
A drowned kitten
In your own backyard.
Smartphone spews
Headjuice on Muesli.
The day after the day after wholesale slaughter flyblown autumn gossamer persists stubborn as winter rowan becomes tonight more trash to incinerate sweet horse chestnut We endure stale lavender All the greens become obscene rude yellows stark enchanted azure No chance of heaven at eleven. As in the black night a certificated medic calls to say: Life goes on without us then just like glimpses promptly disappears
Lunch upon
time used
every second
fecund
Sporting matching
bonnet and black, baggy
jumper.
Sweaty, seedy boxers,
and fresh Homer slippers.
Ready for inaction.
Frost
promised,
don elastic
cotton vambrace,
the day begins.
Shorter
days means shorter lives.
Shorter
hours means shorter drives.
Grimbeau 