…& more sleep.
Got stuck in slough slow bowls,
a stray sky blue smurf sought my company;
fleeting scalpel sunshaft burst
fairly snapped me out.
Make decisions for soul provisions – finance pimples as ever.
Monday’s food is Sunday’s mood.
Trying to loosen, and keep loose,
neck and shoulders.
Right arm troubled.
Go with the pain, pleads the pain.
No dreams just fleeting night moods, wafts,
misted fiats coloured
greyblue, greenish, mushy.
uncast off, harboured beyond sleep,
Bay low voices mumble, whisper:
Get up and water the source
for a pipe.
Must shower & cream.
Day goes grey
Did shower & cream.
Day goes by.
Forgot that my mornings
are now free of idiots,
especially Sunday idiots
Test Match: Sunday Start Shock!
Wrinkled Member explodes
in Long Room
Dull thud in Norwood
Nearly wakes the dead
& the living dead.
Sid crows, demi-dawn, cool night breeze folds,
falls from fan.
Remnants remain: crusted, polythene grass;
grand damned poems;
the truce is over, the murder is resumed.
Back to where it all began, square one squared,
one more dance, duplicated dalliance.
So the day is done. The same old same old
Step out hand in hand in
The deep, odd, shock of it hit me in the sun
On the shed path, marooned on a concrete crack
Freed up took in the scene, shocked, turned;
Trundled, older, balder, back up the ramp
Freewheeled, calmer, silent, down the ramp
Came to rest beside the stable table,
Tossed my hair (singular) in the blue breeze
And wiped the puss from Barney’s weeping souls.
The moo-cows are gone home to roast
No more mutinous idiots barge in
Decide to play this game of life to win
Find a strange land,
concrete, not a fancy,
Not a nation,
Nor a state or both,
where confusion breeds
dissemblance and misery.
A realm glimpsed,
enjoyed only without torment,
or opposing the beast.
Secure and safe, warm and dry,
without fear or favour.
Impossible! That can never be.
Whorled walnut tree
Makes the sticks
The brickburner supplies the bricks.
a tin, eerie
Shall we dance?
Crackle and ivory,
drum brush, Dapper Dan,
tuxedo, savoy, suave, class, pure class, lush…
rubber corsets on flaccid flappers,
inner tube condoms,
PJ Perelman, art deco, echo chamber
commemorations, abdications, league of nations,
pylon poets, silver screens, Teruel,
Abyssinia, King Zog, King Kong,
concierge, demi-urge, debutantes, ants-in-pants…
Popular Fronts, Fascist Cunts, Micky Mouse,
The uniformed doorman at the Picture House
Primo Carnero, Bonnie, Clyde, Lassie
Armstrong Siddeley, broken chassis
Spikes, louses, blouses, dames in trousers
Pathe Newsreels, nudists, sandalled Buddhists,
Caddying for Tony Locke, spats, Schneider Trophy
No nightingales in Berkeley Square, just martingales,
He piped the music slow, careful.
buzz, buzz, buzz
Not on my nose!
Freeze, Mr. Piper, or the nose gets it.
Sweatbeads: adrenalin: tremble.
Try a blow? Little up draught.
Make small big.
Music is oozing from the nozzle,
mauve music magma.
drop music funnel
notes splatter cake.
Grab, miss, panic
cake on floor…
…nose throbs, cross eyes
Buzz gone, job done,
fact of life
We’ll begin at midnight
When you have time you have liberty
Noon & Nixpence
in tranceful, graceles woe,
pursued by evil minded lambs,
surrounded by the hurt and hapless.
These things I sink below,
subsumed in dread.
This is the blue blue blues:
turn world upside down,
shake it down.
dandruff and wonga sprinkle
earth skin, cluster and choke.
Bad air day.
Solace: not alone.
United we sit,
divided we lie.
Surly, vexed, mumbling, bumbling,
swallowing down bile and spleen
a small bird hops past on the sill!
A fair coin tossed.
A farced chant, grumbling like an alp.
Shannon mare dream
Shrill oboe scream:
Hector! Hold your horses.
The kettle’s finished boiling.
The past will someday
be the same again.
Pale chuff faced,
Inside Chapel Cell,
Her Holy hidey-hole,
Up the duff,
recently gin & needled
dropped like a sock,
and in that drop got
emasculated from Herstory,
babeless scrawl on nameless wall.
no more net
The power set at constant max
Mind’s Eye emerges from start surge to
A golden arrow flashes darting past.
Lee J Cobb. Wrong Cobb. Donald?
No, that was Campbell.
Google it, live & learn.
Pull the search engine up,
load it with a boulder, wind it up, and release.
Downwind we hear
no screams or impact
As if it never happened
After Sylvester evensong, Loyola piped up:
‘Out with the Pianola!’
(As Nasturtiums have for donkey’s years)
We were ready to kick out the jambs
The Easter Lambs & heaven could wait a quarter
Priscilla the Pig, our Abbot, dressed as Emile Zola
Got the ball rolling with the much lauded Tombola.
A fine thing, like some tradition,
The Tombola of the Tropaeolum:
We put our Bull into a hat
Pull out the winner
And a new year
Doctrine is chosen
A fresh true rumour
To add to the credo
This is followed by
A game of sardines
An eternal favourite
have neither direct pictorial
nor documentary evidence for it,
my first quarter on earth,
what those directly involved have told me,
confirmed by their satellites.
All a bit vague if you think about it
The first thought is adoption,
the second hospital error,
unwanted from a relative or neighbour;
Son of God,
follow once you start.
(At least it was not Shandy Hall and its annoying horology).
did see my mum from time to time
in her incubated space.
She smiled from hollow cheeks
fought the maggots eating the belly wound
from where I had been sprung.
My dad was shy and did not get pushy
about seeing me till things calmed down a bit.
He did not pick me up and rock me till we got home:
After he did I never cried again, it is said.
wet as water:
Ponds ’r’ Us!
Like a mucky duck
walks on warm, thin ice,
looking up anxiously
serene green scene
at tulips pouting,
kind epileptic fish,
sanguine potholed saucepans
latterday Saturday vertebrae.
Endless list: catalyst.
shrug it off,
The essential difficulty with Mssr Grimbeau’s
pomes is that they are crap & drivel
a wonderful thing.
honey enthrals me
casts me off .
Pork chops, bud planting proposed:
hope springs eternal.
Farce of habit.
too forced lately,
going to work for its ownsake.
Leave it to settle, Mr Pushy-Git for
‘You cannot manage
what you cannot measure.’
10cc…comes in spurts.
Henless heads, dustbin laden.
Pot posits kettle:
‘You are black.’
Read and rest
Lux and lug.
Stories swim amorphous, like Chagall sprites:
teasing & taunting, winding me rightup,
shitty harpies, chicken livers, shit lilies,
pallet knife smears, chaff and ribwort, fly blight,
wormcast, hot iron in the hole.
Answer: stop poetising, not everything.
Opaque craving: not waving, just raving.
Lunchlines. Lasagne to go; no salad leaves!
All are suspects. Whatdunnit? Poison milk,
Croak & Crosswell. Condensed gift:
dilute & quaff off this myrtle quoit.
Late, great Spooner. Leave oxtail by town drain.
Quit the spritz, Turd policeman.
Bottom inspectors of the world: ignite!
Social lurkers, shadow shams. Now you see:
Now! You donut. Dream of scrumptiousness,
crack of doom. Dunderhead heard: Thunderbird said:
“Five minutes & we’re almost there.”
it rolled out one summer’s morning,
thick roll-up in one hand
tar strong coffee in the other,
halted atop the ramp
to take dappled light
took this picture:
green wheelbarrow homes
old yellow milkcrate
left side of
giant cypress treetrunk;
three paving slabs
propping up three
Generally the earth is parched grey, arid, and ill lit.
This is a gravelly land, conifers did well here till
the buildings cropped up to replace them.
Down the hill is a loamy valley, which floods a lot.
These were the fields where the villagers
who lived up here in the pinewoods worked.
It is called Clayhill
Up it is:
dithered, dawdled, dallied.
Barnes out: Barnes in.
Door shut and locked.
Subterranean Bogseat Blues.
groaning, churning, burning.
mud, reed, slime, sludge
for warm, dry land.
Slow as a Boa.
No more routinely ruptured mornings –
Quite a happy prospect!
‘…Nora seemed dead on leaving.’
Everyone is blessed: half-dressed.
Trussed and preyed on that one for another day.
Tricateurs with Secateurs;
Kiss my anus, Janus;
fishwives swimming in shirk infested waters.
We do not do blood.
Rain, sultry rain.
leaden sky fruit,
burst on copious,
a dopey puffin then
hunker down within
the livid dense canopy
to share a light
repast of slender wafers
over a convivial round
of knock out whist.
no matter the weather,
a rainforest favourite
throughout the ages.
Beastlings from yards