Cider With Nosey


Spring 2



walk out

in the garden

assume the olive chair

face the morning sun

mindful of the schism

spend awhile elsewhere

ten provides some clarity

go tear down delapidated

old tired chicken townships

destroy what is not needed

gig for stolen dignity

time to dig down deep

replenish nurture



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tundra is the night
orange groves spurn indigo
gormless faces dreft
eyelids held opinions
wretches clutching jubes


No, I don’t want to
talk about the Wrecklings—

let’s just move on
my computer wants
to help me by getting to
know my voice pattern
Isn’t this so exciting!
I get stuck for words &
burst out in schlock applause
dark comedians complain:

stop pulling my fuckin’ leg!

Portrait of a Maybe



No malice no cry

Removed annoying tiffin dag

Dried up fruit cake crumb

Hard to break down cranberry

Undigested lamb cutlet

Or something more sinister

Don’t look now says Henry James

pulling on worn cardie

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wobbly hatstand
woolly jumper

yellow wellies-
apple scrumpa

copyright Grimbeau 1848


Hoovering half-heartedly, 
Pre-stressed steel muscular, 
stilted, stiffish, torpid
The quality of mercy 
is half-strained & falsetto 
like a doomed balloonist going splat 
on worn grey leatherette footstools, 
a real deal phagocyte enters, 
snips claggy brackish waterfowl, 
flings a crane fly in the simmering beige broth, 
shall we sport passé cotton pullovers for effect, 
muss dwindling rancid quiffs and heinous eyebrows? 
Downcast slow rise condos 
sinuate minus stucco tracery. 
others live in icky sitcom sets
it is lifestyling for sure
just not as we know it


What is to be done? 
simple Mexican hat trick? 
Well it is a job after all. 
Being a doctor. 
Caught up on some zeds after. 
No hidden meanings this time. 
Just unconciousness. 
Oh the Unfairness of life. 
Go first get it over with. 
Not on your nelly. 
Little things just little things.  
all add up you know



The stampede continues, coughs and sneezes,
bronchial wheezes
spread more doggiedoos, half a blanket full for breakfast,
…I dream of Jeanie
with the light brown stool,
dripping on the stairwell in the morning…

The show must go on,
breath and voice,
breathing and voiceover,
timbre & tempo.
Little crackle cracks in an
Emerald Forest glade,
languid reindeer slopes
off, eschewing tree dust
unmoved by the wonder
we have just witnessed,
timing is everything you see,
the smell is creeping under the door,
anxious human footsteps clomp—

car insurance, benefits culture, health and safety…
putting two and two together
when nothing adds up
to a hill of beans. Yikes!

That was Sunday a week back was it?
yes last Sunday was ?
yes last Sunday was
Young Frankenstein .

Sleepless in Indianapolis somehow doesn’t have it.
Big Apple is just plain wrong.
yes you can write it off.
A Bumper Compendium of
Cinematic Carthorses
down the ages. Think
outside the shitbox
and it sure as eggs
is a shitty prospect out there

Ominous white roadsweeper crushes the car.
Fast dog craps at noise.
Deep yellow coloured lighter
obscured in part by glossy red cricket ball
quite by happenstance this
provides a striking contrast
in this tallow light.
Green tea did a trick (did it?)


I am ensconced in
Unsteady heady paperwork,
stumbling to a bitter
conclusion of hostilities-
mutual annihilation
looks like a gruesome compromise
between the better aspect
and the best outcome

World News Update

Culpability, imbalance, the dreaded lurgy stalks the porchway, the hamster hutch, the arboretum, and blunt spikes inbetween; night violates day with bags of murk and lovage

Indubitably, it calls itself Monday, brimful with sullen, clumsy passion worthy of a bread poultice infused with watery French mustard, limp alfalfa and toadstool

Tedium is just a damp blanket on a burnt out chip pan, a brisk riddling with formaldehyde never fails to yield staggering exultation at such junctures

Zoroaster caught herpes off a loathsome vet this day in nine sixty seven, the news when leaked by the skivvies, met with scant compassion

Axolotl harvest late due to line maintenance in the eucalyptus groves of transcendent Hobart-on-Sea

The best things in life are prohibitively expensive due to a series of botched algorithms, a perfect storm, and the bells of St Clement Danes


Dog shits all over
brown house by invitation
mad resident pup
ill wind blows no man no good
head cold proves advantageous

By Gum!


that is to say
unbevelled vinyl surfaces,
colours range from black to white.
How did it get here?
Suspended in thin air
hanging motionless

yet still
seeming to wobble oddly


Silent Movie

Expansiveness: opens can
Campbell’s Condensed minaret,
relaxes the nape,
ugly fruit peels off
serrated lid and…
Don green marigolds
Wash and trim the fat
Fetch blue bucket to town well.
Meet yellow bucket bearer
On the way back for
first time in ages…
Tell me, what is she
up to these awesome decades?
Sits around by the
writes a lot on a frog, waits,
checks the screeds over
and over again,
looking for acknowledgements,
acknowledgements, acknowledgements…
proof that something happens
somewhere spontaneously sometimes.
The rest of her life is spent
in worry-work, going back
over things again and again and again.
Forgetting, forgetting stuff
does a lot of forgetting.
Nothing much to dismember
was there?


serpentine stragglers tsk-tsk
thunderstruck lurid  gargoyles 
gruff impatience mumbles off
chiffon teardrops splash

car wheels spin on pink gravel
helicopter down blasts
compressing bouffant hairdos
circus leaving town


Myrtle ides bizzy-lizzy
Effervescent blue jacuzzi

Testicles frizzle-razzle-dazzle
Bach, Sax, and Baxi does a sizzle

Sparkling white rhino
Licking up Parafino

What’s it to be then?
So I ssked Martin Heidegger

Pulling out a bottle-stopper
Let us call it Dippelschisser


Old grey Alf Bee, 88, parks his quill,
bitter and twisted by turns, lemon juice springs to mind.
And the sound of heavy rain on monochrome Chryslers
Put down what you hear, he said—now you can take that both ways,
one derogatory the other a secret tape recording.
A bug
Like in The Conversation or Watergate
Paranoia, excess, celluloid,
Angst and bourbon, heavily perfumed nylon sex, sure makes for some conflict.
Just get some clueless dudes, cover them in eau do cologne, souse them with liquor,
and switch on the reel-to-reel.
Pretty old hat when you think about it.
Titles include:
Booze Afraid of Virginia Drunk?, or,
(laconically)  A Brew from the Fridge


Thudding raindrops beat
whoozy eccentric tattoos
Broken baritones croak
growling thunder rumbles

loose as unctuous
scrumptious bronchial catarrh—
can lightning do nothing
except flash and strike?

The Wreckoning

Half a month’s worth in one just night: flash torrent chaos rains, freefall-bomber hits the skids…rainy, rainy skies, up since just gone three, realigning smooth riversides, knee deep down in autumn sludge

What a difference a day can make. Summer slams its door shut. Batten up and hunker down. Get the winter brain in gear. How lucky are you feeling?

Queasy feelings rattle me, the lift abruptly shudders , time to light a candle up. Something is lodged down deep, I dare not cough it up, spit it out.

I fear the consequences of seeing my black soul writhing before me on the cruel floor. The witching hour comes. The anthracite dog will not go out in this—

Why should anyone in their right mind? Outside we dry some fire sticks, make day light, watch the last bee suckle, have one last puff on the trumpet, set the drapes on overtime, Mr Hands! We sail for Costa Teabag

In sanitised thatch cottages sad eyed sod busters float before my Jolson eyes, some optimists wave resigned white hankies from upstairs windows, the others stare blank pure dread and sweep past on the ruthless ebb

Night Storm

purple rain gestures
porous chorus eyes sweep seas
litmus paper pores
indigo collides with crimson
hollow bronchial catarrh
sounds of rumbling baritone
lightning flashes lightning strikes
never in the same place once

Mr Sudds

Pride precedes fall off
Fat dwarf rides giant tortoise
George Clooney’s hermit
Thrice a day leaves the folly
Mounts said giant mobile home
Spins anti-clockwise twice round
Well-manicured lawn
Back to bankruptcy
Smartass weirdos who
Hail from the British isles
Must simply keep hush-hush

Ain’t Necessarily So…So

‘Ungry! you bet yer
badass angry as hellza
hip-hip hooray Huzzargh
mush wryshuss indignayshun
Clear the room, remove the loon
jinx more second helpings now
is the winter of our disco -fuff
flacid gawd, whorely doxy…
puffer runnin’ uff out-pfuffuff
fuel needs feeding you Tom Fool
hire clear blue sky blinking
turn again Whitless-Washboard
turn again, for London’s Burning
lavender river flow-flows
Parting company wit
Aint as sinful as it sounds
Necessarily so-so


manifest obscurity

Cotton Wool

Drifting on a balsa raft, oriental crocus breeze, compass spindles slow, ever increasing circles, heading for the pillowed rocks, supine on a sandy shore, truly past caring


After, psycho-narco jollies pass, swoon descends into slumber, groping idly in the dark, letting out the rabid dog, listening out for sneaky rodents, standing tall in a small


Hall, struggling on scattered stairs, letting out spent poison, trying hard not to break your scrawny neck descending, nice day to start still life again, will it wet or dry be, where


Has the week gone too this time, high up noisome purple scuds, ominous luminescence, wishing for the worst, never hoping for the best, too many disappointments, keep


Calm and carrion, sing a song of sufferance, go lightly and with peace, what in these slippers, you are of course taking the piss, getting down to work, incomprehensible


Narrator talking out his arse, king seen in altogether, chortles ripple round real tennis courts, balls roll down ha-ha, quite a parting trick, bow low while winking to the


Stranger’s gallery, shapes of things to come, spasmodic tetrahedral paper diamonds, off road catastrophes, ploughshares turn to ear rings



lost souls of america 
counter revolution count
er revolution
climb off your wooden ships
fly away
i can see from across the pond
that you are from the other side...
we love you love us
you don't need us
take your sister by the hand
lead us far from this foreign land
very free and easy

Shark Infested Mustard

Trashed it, simpering, dithering, dark editor, slow whimsy dulls me, narcolepsy whelms, laps, gurgles…here we go again, malingering without intent to cause affray

A new idiot is born, not a repeat of yesterday’s, that comes in the night. Same exasperating incidental music, mind you, synthesizer meets viola in a troika

Turtle doves, water voles, and killer bees endangered by turn of agent orange by popular demand, outbreak of Pigg’s Chorea

Let soft dictators sleep easy in their pearly cots, safe in the knowledge yours is an open and shut cask of amontillado

Enter purer freer realms without redress to newer cleaner clothes forgetting not to paint your toes, blow your nose, or stone the crows

Chick: Korea

Harry S Truman rests back on a space hopper:
‘look here, if they won’t take our shit, we’re history…right Mac?
A quiet ruffling; random coughing; small collusive smirks—
the usual suspects finger fad gadgets
We could have cut the atmosphere with a skateboard…


Perpetual eye
Stares down ineluctably
On lesser mortals
Disposed to transgression
Panoptical illusions
Disturbs internal security
Stranded camera

Feed the Head



In the sugar hole

prized out last remaining twix

hopeful of some oomph

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Green tea infusion
Cumulus stratus nimbus

Squirt runny honey
What else is available—

paperwork, towelling, fear
doubt, Japanese verse forms

compromise and surrender
plenary self-indulgence

Time to make up lists
Self-fulfooling prophecies

Caught anything yet?
Have a shower after this

next coffee, then a crap,
and a l o n g shower.

Its bloody Monday
morning just look at what you have

been through all you’ve
been through just to get to here

jam trap

Jam tomorrow and jam today—how I hate those pesky jam traps. Venus Fly, Man
And Honey aren’t much to write home about either

now I come to think of it. Best to avoid them all, or trigger them with a barge pole or pole vault pole from a safe distance behind a rubber gum tree

Early days of future past, soap sudsy bubble bath, flyblown tumbleweed scuds, pink candyfloss monstrosity coated in wasps

stand up and be counted out on a technicality, retire to the Galapagos, going over old ground, check the lobster pots for squatters

Harrison Birtwhistle whispers sweet nothings, thistles bristle purple thorax, gentian blue crab apples skedaddle helter skelter down the lane

Omnibus Blues

Change is decay, all growth is benign, progress is not what it was, nothing ever changes much, people come and go, that’s all there is to it, what more do you want?

Every cloud has a silver lining, Wilbur, so let’s buy some buckets and spades and build some fancy new-fangled contraption and go get stinking rich

Waltzing Matilda fell through the door, collapsed on the floor, crawled into bed, and descended into lavender fields bathed in water

Looking for the gear lever, awful grinding sound, smell of abject poverty, damp cardboard boxes, stale body odour, taste of mass consumption,

overwhelming hyacinth dreams of wonky power alchemy on toast, wobbly jelly roll agenda
Roast chicken Trujillo drumroll

personal hygiene seldom if ever funny take your daffodils follow prescribed instructions
very tiny small print don’t forget to do-dah

host harbours hierophant unhinges white anchovies extinguishes two milk bottles
challenges goldfish to nine holes medal


yellow wave insurgent sea
splashes hurdle ‘arbour wall
drench morning strollers
shiny black mackintoshes
up buttoned collars

seek out scoundrel’s last refuge
working man’s café
hot cup of green tea
do more good than harm
waste not to want not
facing stark choices

Bovril or Marmite
Mermaid or Dolphin?
wash your face at least
funny taste of surgeon
red carbolic soap tablet
fiddly little cuss it is
the only way is…Oops!

white houseclock

play is suspended
due to lack of interest
casablanca time

Prince Buster

W on e

ssS tep

pp bE



d D dr

Autumn Almanac

Dancehall days are here again
Couch potatoes go to seed
In front of Goggle boxes
Outside equinox well

You can strictly stick Strictly
Come Dancing up your sad arse

Farce repeats as history

In Her Own Write

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


Two hours shut-eye, blinds pulled tight,
               undreamed of tranquility.

 Long morning shift: stiff
               para limps on, empty blue stage,

 no obtrusive ramps, 
               bench press lifts  
               broken, poor doors…

 just one more amazed 
               interview then an ice bath tonight-

 Shall I learn the lambada 
               over this perpetual winter?


Feral Beryl married Bill Sensible - 
a brown shoe salesmen
They lived for a while 
in Strawberry Hill
Then came the schism 

Homo Deus

Homo Deus rises far too early, doing nobody no favours, plugs in the cat and stares mindfully at a cherished hologram

Grand auto thieves scamper for cover across the kitchen ceiling, Spider Siddall and the gang know when to err on the side of caution

It is now time to retrieve the clavicle from the birdbath, a delicate task demanding scant attention for those bent on self-destruction

The Tannoy erupts into life, someone in Patagonia has decapitated a backpacker with a wayward pitch of the bolus

Despite nemesis and a string of letters to the local authorities, a group of birds persists in the annoying practice of respirating squawkily


Changes on the way
This takes longer than a day…
Five hogs is far too many

Garden full of junk
Take it as it is
Forget about it

When I cannot write
I write
i ca nn otw rite

There is nothing to
write about
when I cannot
write so I write
when I can

garden full of junk
this takes longer than a day
forget about it

change is on the way
take it as it comes
five hogs is enough

when is day afternoons
go on and on


Seven Books,
spider words,
snuffed snow
black candle.

A leeward window draft.
Please reprise the reprise.

Axminster Aztec
brick brown rug.

Time to go south,
flight to light.

There to remain in sunshine nights.
Mornings open doors to lazuli
lapping the boulevard.

Coy smell of fish, cognac, and coffee.

Dogs yelp gulls off:


Political Vegetables


maybe tangelo
looking up first thing see i
want to fall in love
eventually one day
just to feel how it felt
looking up first thing i see your
pumpkin orange gloves

‘Awe! That Fall…’

bum sore after Sunday
drunken stumbling clunking fall
loose green sock cops blame…

Aragon Nite

Tomorrow is not happening yet—adverse climactic features, heavy sweaty day scowls disapprovingly down, sparkless key bashers bang away down tin pan alley,

becket wrote endgame in such conditions staring down at Santé Prison in one second on a grey autumn day in Newcastle, Co. Down in the year of our Ludd 2016.

Mother-of-Pearl skies loom, make for a luminous emptiness, a milk-ivory lamina patina, we inmates parallel such lineage for diversion in my dowdy sweatshop.

The relief of Mafeking Head! The whirligig dances of the Dervish push no rivers, pull no punches at swim in the holy whole of holies

When they ask Jimmy the Greek to ‘resolve a wager before war breaks out, is that the sun or the moon up there?’, he gives his droll stock response:

there is no point in asking me as I hail from the Craic of Doom, Doomsville, Doomistan…’, and goes about his mail order business with added gusto.

Lo Energy Sport

no great hopes for this
one—no obligations or
contracts to fulfil
all hours are zero round here
countdown to entropy
always commences with
your starter for ten

treading water

quiet slow warm clean
Great Sea Voyages of
What makes us stare at
open windows opposite
black as television sets
when there’s nothing worth watching?
just another empty room
exactly the same as this
‘cept the other way round
now that is quite interesting

ice dust

Above is a good example of rushed verse, some kind of mad blue surge cacophony, direct mappable point-to-point expressionism,

the spot where the technicolour yawn erupts, splutters and congeals into gypsum, or maybe papier machete

Something is in the air. If there wasn’t we would be really stuck. SWOT analysis reveals three dead flies in the blackcurrant preserve, lying low for the duration

Feeling the new is insanity without the confines proscribed by the rag and bone men, take my word for it (you may as well it’s free at the point of need)

Who started the air pump without cleaning the vents? What a terrible mess. The callousness of some people never ceases to outrage


Washed, washed up, washing in the wash – whoosh that’s the sound of corporal punishment and time flying

The parlous Lewis is on the box. This is where I came in three years ago. Whoosh that’s history repeating itself like gherkins and anecdotalists

It’s proper lashing it down out there. Dare I envy the orange lozenge beanflower living in the now. Whoosh whipped the wind with a fulfilled whish

Old music hall jingo-django vaudeville singalongs—bets no-man’s land into a cocked hat
Whoosh there goes a really white whizzbang

The boy I love throws up in the gallery, nacreous alabaster swan’s necks turn when the shot rings out, ‘Gas, gas quick boys’. Whoosh comes the yellow narcoleptic mist


the psychology
of redemption goes like this—
put on the kettle

pretty pl e a s e…

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