Many Happy Returns
Adeline
slipped away
alone
with herself
together
she walked
into
the river
Forever
Grimbeau
Scroodles
Tag: writing
March 27, 2014
Been Fishin’
Company and drink
enter the room
warm menace, sardonic, knowing, sage
Scarlatti.
When this episode, this little jolly, is over, is it
another Tempest.
An
attractive, familiar, alternative,
sickening, horrific, act of self-harm,
abuse, and neglect?
Why this lack of worth, of purpose, of me?
But,
if this is me how can the alternative
attractive familiar be denied?
Take a good look at the situation.
How does one change it, confront, combat it?
Have a nice day!
Sinball!
Without a hangover as well.
Forget the bottle,
you got the bottle.
Repression.
Gonna play this game of life to win:
shower at eight, sort papers, get creamed up
and dressed
and go,go,go…
March 22, 2014
Anabasis
Four no rule,
no measure years,
just got back mid-morning:
soft landing,
natives just the same, not me;
too much time to think, you see,
so everything is good or bad up there.
Back with a head full of seaweed, razor
whale gore,
syphilis and carnage. Whodunit?
Ask the guy in the looking glass. He say:
Author of your own destruction
with a little help from your
acknowledgements.
Left is right.
Right is left.
No turning back
You know too much
March 20, 2014
Late Night Shopping
Moussaka from Alaska!
Aint
Had any moose
For donkey’s ears.
Jazzy caresses
Tell me:
If you can keep your head
When all around are
Are losing theirs
You can read this.
March 20, 2014
Stand Easy
…mad rush phantom turd
fear false alarm no bombs
all clear for now slip back
down fizzy coffee.
air room fug.
World flora crown sill:
red rose,
cactus rose and aloe vera,
baby cactus rose,
yucca – George the summat,
stray leafy leaf
avoids peach tobacco
stage curtains,
old small paned iron strip windows,
titan thickening privet
sprouting lawn,
brick brown semi
some big trees hide
simple horizon
planeless skies
March 19, 2014
Dawned on me…
Oxen stare out
ankle deep in mud
catch a flaxen
burst of lux gold sax.
The procession nears:
Madame Charcot,
her Footmen,
borne by
mute lace makers.
They pass,
Waving waxen,
lit by Tilley Lamp
and near full
plumb
moon.
Here to replace
the sleeper.
Then
After that
Matins and Martini.
Misery lurks in the long grass,
armless and still,
like good gone west.
March 18, 2014
PM
No post today
Blog and door.
Busy
being unknown by
and to the outside world.
Inside
howsoever
the world was
mad hectic:
sitting reading, eating,
staring, smiling, scowling,
snarling, sighing, tutting
spitting, speaking, saging,
mulling, musing, chuckling,
nodding, turning, snooping,
slurping, sighing, smoking,
standing, stepping, shaking…
That’s Quite Enough
words commencing
with ‘s’ for now.
March 14, 2014
That was not a Pipe
So, farewell Tony Benn,
wild eyed scion of socialist stuff,
that was not really a pipe,
it was surreal
like lobster telephones,
and soggy clocks.
My mate Terry always
mistook you for Dennis Skinner,
but you were thinner on top.
Anyway, he won’t make the same
Mistake again
I hope.
March 14, 2014
Dragged Up
Thick fog, drooping rose…
daybreak,
soft pink sound
footpad breaking glass,
crystal chandelier smashed:
avalanche,
no wonder,
wrists swaddled
heavy
linen
watch.
March 13, 2014
Drifting Torso
Bills and banks bob up
blankly blinklessly
Ghoulishly gawping,
gazing, and grinning
Sink back, you wish, but
they are sure anchored
(remotely controlled
hydraulic timer)
until you will dive in
sever the drogue cord.
Then watch them drift away
out of sight but never mind.
Grimbeau 