book of the week ends with six pips
her name was Beryl Bainbridge
her sparkling eyes & dazzling quips
cascading from her lucid lips
finely sculpted flattened vowels
came back to me from
a documentary I once saw
about John Lennon
Pop up half mill.
Say it again.
Pop up…light sill.
Comprises:
Dried flowers, heads well dead.
-‘allo Vera
-‘allo Grim
…
All I recall before the whirring blur…
Landrover in the hall.
Half banana & Muesli.
Cheesy cauli scoff by Bo.
Nix no more…
…
Spectacle respectable,
hi-silver scudders
heading Wenward.
Fade to mauve diluted grey.
Two crows lope left.
Stilled of a sudden.
A polyp in Port Said
abundant floribunda.
No man cast asunder
Spuds on, oven off.
Daily Gerontius with Olive Spadeface.
Leaves are hard to draw when you’re crap.
Two bags of Walker’s previously salted & some savoury balls of
Obscure provenance.
It’s a rap trap, Baby – & you been tort.
That’s me in the sauna, losing my spaghetti.
Blob and Mutt.
They of the far-famed gut
Jellyroll Morpeth.
Son of that sod: Maximillian Swell.
Cast of Godsends, back from the groove.
Loosely hanging, cockless in Dawlish
waiting for a brain. Feeling Vera’s
braiding Himmler’s genes. One. One. One.
The wealth of notions,
manifold
nano-agues
quelled by herbal
detonators;
vigilant magpie,
looking up for it
like a ska band cover;
gathering storm clouds
from the unfair,
violet west:
all of these
and more
by invasion
define my musing,
trip me up
as I oil up
readying
for slippery,
deeps matters of state.
Excuses whisper
it is said on the
weather
it is said.
I collapse in
Turquoise slop,
trying to remember
What
these excuses were…
All power to the imagination!
Perspicacity:
When push
came to shove.
Wild notes:
A bit of a whopper!
Had to get these down before I got stuck
cheroooted to the table.
Thanks to Danny Baker.
Warmed my butt and sacrum
with the oat and lavender bags
flicked through the morning stations for
distraction,
inspiration,
information –
in short, company.
Other voices.
Came across the Danny Baker Show,
a show I like and always forget to listen to
I am so bogged down in my listening ways.
The item was about Greenland’s timezone-less centre;
how they called it Greenland because Vikings
wanted to deter invaders from their cherished Iceland;
another item mentioned ‘thundersnow’
and I was away. Up for it, writing came first
and I made some jots:
These are they.
Saturday mornings Punk Odyssey
Drongo pomes dialogue.
The Vanmitzvah;
little feral red van
becomes
big red van/bus does
not stop at my gate.
Passed by a boy: came back a man.
Returned, emerged.
Apple in a football ground.
Thundersnow on a lowlight
Trying too hard; put simply,
can’t decide where to start.
As you mean to go on?
As good as
anywhere.
So here we
are again.
The square one.
A saying that comes from
Radio
so that the
listener
could follow on a grid
in the Radio Times.
But where was the square one?
The middle, the corners,
In the net?
Grimbeau 