Mr Grimple displayed pavonine flair
Feeling himself a favonian wind
Luck was in the air
So with umbrella to hook
He clung from the clouds
And when Betty looked up, boy did she cluck!
‘What the hell are you doin’ up there?’
All while she fluffed up her hair.
‘I’m bearing the lightness of being’ Said Mr Grimple and with one big shrug, lifted burdensome boulders
Upon the knolls of his shoulders.
The grind
We were twine o’ thread knottin’ time
bent us snaggle toothed spines needlin’ at the grind
We were fusty with British stiff upper lip
with sabre toothed vanity, mining us extraterrestrial in coal an’ lime needlin’ at the grind
We dreamed o’ greenin’ the land
cigarettes chained to us ‘ands needlin’ at the grind
We erased that which we wished to glimpse
In a trailblaze of exhaust fumes, steerin’ the grind
We extolled the land by mouth
And demarcated it with the other ‘and steelin’ uselve’s fer the grind
An attempt at this week’s W3
Prayer o’ land
A familiar shape
In prayer o’ land
Where the butterflies fritter
ying & yang
Siren Song
It beckons us back
with treacled sunrise
just one swim, the siren song sings
hermetically sealed in our ears
crashing cymbals, these waves
these waters know our skin
and all the souvenirs it comes with.
Gnomes Rutting Season
Please read the following with David Attenborough’s voice in mind.
..And now a donsy of gnomes
Gather away from their homes
Awaiting their companions
In diplodocus canyon
And as the males start to rut
The females choose, each, their hut
Readying it for their young
And soon, gnomlings run amok
This was written for W3
The Gargoyle On The Castle Wall
Me huzfizz face come loose
screamin’ at the splizer zeeth
Void find me
And…
Where was I?
Cobwebs and water spouts…
They all cobble t’gether
in big grandiloquent hats
talking absaloute balderdash
Void find me
Beer swills and spills
much as the blood that rushes
after sword and iron rule
and then
Seams of unhinged ripish
Screamin’ at the splizer zeeth
And then she comes in with histrionic gush
‘Off with his head!’ she bleats
They all swell as one beast
with blood lust and cheer
I done seen gracke
stone faced grimbal
I shall be ‘ere etnero
It’s the after-party of more blood rush
They drink from my mouth
I scream gurgled poison
Void find me!
Screamin’ at the splizer zeeth
They’re my prisoners now.
This poetry is written for W3
Carillon silence
Our shadows dislimn the land we extol
Bottle necked exhalations shrugged us up from our holes
to witness the passing shape of our lungs
as we sprung from gunpoint
And do dead daisies push up their brothers too?
In the silent spring of our futures
A carillon tolled silence.
Dragons Glimpse
Golden shimmers upon dragons glimpse
Secrets spread in wild fringe
The air holds the names of battles, grim
Where illusions stir us from our skins
Cradled in the world that churns us in
The skeletal remains of our chagrin
Trapped in cage of ribs
The butterflies flitter away our whims
Jack outta his box
A magniloquent wind up bastard
Chartaceous, a wasps nest
Verbose on’t tongue
Clockwork brain with rusted gyral
Death rattles us on tickin’ tocks downward spiral
Did I mention I’m certified unhinged
A wheel short o’ a penny farthin’
Aye, it’s true but thee can’t put me back in’t box
Cuz I upped an’ sprung
Jack sprung from ‘ere
Sunday whirl
Turnin’ up limb fer limb
Piece by piece
Blood shatters our mission in glass
Vitrified by the kiln in us ‘earts
We walk’t line ‘Tween fire and laughter
Thee only truth
Is the glimmer in us eyes
That thee mined af’er
Our porcelain faces crack
In a furnace o’ fists
That’s t’ smack o’ it
No turnin’ back from’t rubble o’ it
It’s true, we’re burnin’ t’ world at both ends
It’d be a crime if we knew any different
silverbackgorillapoetry.com 