Butter
Enoch smoothed mum’s
scrawny brow with
the buttercup
‘Flamboyance, flamboyance…’
Her favourite word:
He whispered it.
She sleeps
He takes the tray
End of day
Grimbeau
Scroodles
Tag: Postcard from Today
March 23, 2015
Rude Awakening
it’s a new dawn
on a new day
and i’m feeling
wood
March 23, 2015
Toad Moon
palpable sea change
calypso ipso facto
red rum chronicles
March 22, 2015
The Die is Cast Off
…aside from scrub
scatted Street Legal,
flew solo around
the warm grey upstairs
spreading love
and affection with
my every breath.
I had a pony:
its name was Lucifer…
March 22, 2015
Fred Carno’s Circus
Show on road? No…
Isolated blizzard,
hail, frog rain, bubonic plague, GPI,
These and sundry vilenesses
prevent Lifter Finger & Hans Turn
Fulfilling promises of gardening.
A pluperfect spring morning
wasteland of historic neglect
disgrace my spiffing gaze.
The road to oblivion is paved
with claptrap and obliquy.
Nothing comes of nothing
never…
March 22, 2015
The Surgical Spirit of Joy
More murky murk
Mufti wades through grey
Morning Match of Day
No blocked beds
Must scrub up
Ready for Theatre
March 21, 2015
The Schism
Ten at night
The pie is dead
Remember The Grapes
Sickly sweat clings
Cold cascades
What is he barking at?
The moon is out
Down The Grapes
With the stars, some hasbeens
And four screaming wannabes
Called The Vermeers
I couldn’t make it:
Artistic differences, you know
Matters of principle
Moral scruples
Skint
March 21, 2015
Getsworse
The giddy minstrel lived on fruit
Flies, moguls, caprice and hunks
Of Cheese and Bread
She did not give a damn about
What
Anybiddy said
Once munching on an oligarch
She tittered and got silly
Convulsed in laughter and bit off
A substantial lump of Willy
March 21, 2015
King of the Swineherds
Give me a groat and I’ll emote on hope and faith, and craic
Should you not meet me on the way, you can on the way back
From hollow land and silly land, to form and sound, and black
The song you hear will be our own and never will shirk or jack
Too good to be true, too simple to work, you say inside your head
That tapping on the roof you hear, is rhapsody robbing the lead.
March 21, 2015
Keeping Worm
Lanolin folded cream
Rolled ploughed furrowed
Clouded brow field
Sky blue food dye filling,
one indigo dropped in a sea
of sky goes miles
Insuck ouch
It bites that wind
Just looking at it
Seated by a throbbing rad
Savaging a trembling bramble leaf
Petrifying a bare twig
Starching stiff the black tent top
And fruity pastel bin and body bags
The fat drawers and winding sheets
Creaking next door’s line
Grimbeau 