Posture
Open
Doors and windows
Open
Mind, legs, and heart
Open
Shoulders
Up
Sky eyes
Floodgates
Tins
All hours
Grimbeau
Scroodles
Tag: Postcard from Today
July 3, 2013
Send in the Drones
Wasn’t that sick?
Are you aware?
Me lying dead on the ground,
You in mid-air.
Send in the drones.
Didn’t it miss?
How can they prove?
One who keeps tearing around,
One who can’t move.
Where are the drones?
Send in the drones.
Just when I’d stopped opening wars,
Finally knowing the one that I wanted was yours,
Making my entrance again with my nonchalant air,
Sure of my lines,
No one is there.
Don’t you love force?
My call I fear.
I thought that you’d want what I want.
Sorry, my dear.
But where are the drones?
Quick, send in the drones.
Don’t bother, they’re here
Isn’t it sick?
Isn’t it clear,
Losing my timing this late
In my career?
And where are the drones?
There ought to be drones.
Let’s get out of here.
Related articles
- US drone strike in Pakistan kills 18 (thenewstribe.com)
June 21, 2013
rain stops play
Pinball and Dickens, it will rain soon: the window will be shut.
Our hero is unwashable.
His father done bad investments.
Cold uncle with the sneery clerk do not help.
What is worse is that is he must go
faraway from this familiar terror
work for Squeers and dwell in his world.
Back in London the dirty oiks cheered him
on his way and gave him a letter.
he did not read it, forgot it.
We worry about him.
He drops the letter, retrieves it from the carriage floor
and reads:
‘…you can come at night. My spilling has gone with my wallies. Pops.’
June 6, 2013
I am what I am
Thursday, 06 June 2013
1:06 PM
‘…a morning of many tempos – pleasant sunshine and a graceful arrival in the crowsnest, a contemplative shower; yet, the insistent repetition of the alarm clock was a portent. On arriving downstairs, I have to confront, singlehandedly, a defiant and barren hen about to ravish the spinach. Staged mayhem results in a cleaning frenzy of the clutter below and the retreat of Sloth in a Huff to her coop after having to do something…’
Popeye spent the rest of the morning ambulating on the zimmer between house and garden: stretching parchment legs, listening to Beethoven, smoking tabs, avoiding dogshit, avoiding humanshit, relaying coffee cups…result: relaxed exhaustion and sunny alienation in the atmosphere of poisoned, silent dispinachment…
May 26, 2013
Eumeaus
Fat Neighbours Incident
‘oh, I say! Aren’t you fat?’
Inflated silent rage and…
‘Pot Black’
A shot rings out, the lawnmowers stop.
‘I don’t understand’
A cryptic slaughter.
May 22, 2013
You’ve got to…
disseminate the creasote,
eliminate the soft soap,
perpetrate a bank job,
and don’t mess with canneloni beans
You’ve not to…
obliviate the blue note
denigrate an old scrote,
consummate a dead goat
and then defenestrate the queen
look at the sun
it’s great fun
make yourself blind
and then it’s done
darkness ain’t all bad
remember to…
make a resolution
to eat a rosicrucean
and celebrate confusion
and don’t go to sleep before your dreams
One more time!
Don’t go to sleep before your dreams…yeah!
May 17, 2013
Villanelly the Mastadon
Villa Nelly the Elephant
Phew! Thank Zeus for that, now it is over
Free at last of the drivelling, humdrum forum
Safely rest in peace and eat ambrosia!
Netiquetee niggly no-no’s off you go, Sir!
Untrammelled by the facile, graceless boredom
Phew! Thank Zeus for that, now it is over
No longer shall one have to soft demur
To the basilisk eyed referential quorum
Safely mush some peas and eat ambrosia
For twenty nights in the same pullover
Horse latitudinal, relentless doldrums,
Break free, get out of that, now it is over.
Have you waited on mention of a four-leaf clover?
Or dreamt of gliding condors of the sun
So say, thank Zeus for that, now it is over.
I dreamt last night as wracked by farce and bovver
A phrase I forgot came back to me, ‘Have Fun!’
Phew! Thank Zeus for that, now it is over
You can safely rest and eat ambrosia.
May 13, 2013
This little piggy went…
Half-eight and getting dark,
night falls over,
gives up the day,
and slumps,
snoring till tomorrow morning, when it wakes
frozen and dank
in a ditch
called Monday.
If summer comes, what shall we be?
Drunken loons cavorting in the cups of memory:
escapees, refugees, and philanderers, rusting in the sun,
never sleeping,
corroding in the night,
spongers in the morning’s dew:
mist as a vat.
Or, just the moiety of a tanner,
half a sixpence,
belted and braced,
suited and booted.
All dressed up
nowhere to go.
Related articles
- Loons in the morning mist (captainkenscloud.com)
April 11, 2013
It…
Then
breaks clear, steady indigo day,
one star awake in the west, cautious
action on the horizon;
nerve
ends flapping on the wind, nerve ends
like underwater shrubbery,
waving and posturing,
sometimes
leeward bowing; sometimes starboard:
a massed rank of constant certainty.
I claim the right to dream in words.
Yesterday
afternoon I ate two
chocolate chip cookies,
the straws that broke the camel’s belly,
and now everything is blubber
& stool.
Grimbeau 