one the one hand
you could say Stan
is one of the hairier muses
in that he effortlessly inspires and amuses
even when he simply snoozes
on the other hand
I’m afraid that Stan
is whatever the OPPOSITE of the muses is
like when you sit down to write and he confuses this
with a challenge to think of as many ways he can to stop you doing this
if you must know
mum & dad weren’t exactly sympatico
and as relationships go
their’s went
sixty years a slow descent
into compromise and argument
take dogs, for example
mum liked them on the bed to cuddle
which was trouble
Dad was adamant
a recipe for accident
basically bad dog management
then he died
and mum was suddenly free to lie
with as many dogs on the bed as she liked
(but to be honest
it wasn’t quite the love-in promised;
mum was serially dog monogomous)
then SHE died
after a few more dogs had gone by
their ashes in boxes waiting on the side
which was a predicament
because mum’s preferment
was to take them with her in the interment
I wasn’t around
when four little boxes went into the ground
in the cemetery plot where dad’s to be found
but I have it as fact
thunder cracked
and three of the boxes came flying back
Sometimes Stanley’s Barkin’ Jack
famous bushranger from the Australian outback
transported to New South Wales in 1846
for unlawfully pawing six tripe sticks
escapes to the bush, leads a pack
of feral lurchers and mutts like that
steals from the rich, harries the traps
gets into legendary scrapes and scraps
till the final, furious, canine shootout
his water low, his last chew chewed out
barks through the window of the settler’s cottage
reckoning five traps to the best of his knowledge
(there’s actually fifty, so Barkin’ blunders;
he was never particularly good with numbers)
he rummages inside the recycling bins
fashions some armour from baked bean tins
bounds outside, pistols flaming
as the bullets from the traps come raining
the rest I’m afraid is ancient history
– but why he’s haunting Stanley’s a bit of a mystery
this is a poem about something big
big as a pink and well-groomed pig
in a county agricultural show
combed and spritzed and ready to go
up to the roaring judges to get
a silver cup and a red rosette
for being the biggest pig in the tent
THAT’S the poem I meant
to write
not this pig shite
heartstopper!
last night an actual grasshopper
slowly crawled
halfway up the bedroom wall
then stopped
then hopped
down on to the bedside table
just missing the water which woulda been fatal
I mean – what did it WANT?
preening itself on a book looking confident
like this was something it’d planned all week
and was getting good money for making us shriek
Kath took a cup
slowly and slyly got up
found a utility bill
to utilise her special skill
which is capturing spiders and sundry bugs
and tossing them outside into the shrubs
grasshoppers definitely the worst of these creatures
being such prodigious leapers
I wished her luck
…. as she STRUCK!
I heard a whump
as it jumped
and the top of the cup furiously bumped
with its alien headgear
as Kath said wait here
took it over to the open window
slid out the letter and let it go
did it land safely?
I’m sorry – I don’t know
(but I sincerely hope so)
make & sell such a lot of stuff
that the planet hasn’t nearly enough
space to process all the packaging
or make good all the ravaging
global disasters averaging
populations fighting & scavenging
then you spill out all the gold in your pockets
build a fleet of boujee rockets
leave before the earth blows up
sleep in pods till a planet shows up
land, tentatively open the hatch
and do the same again from scratch
a dull-witted farmer
upset his daughter
by telling the King
she could weave straw into bling
which he found interesting
SO interesting, in fact
the king had her snatched
and thrown in a cellar
and being a simple, psychopathic fella
ordered her to spin
or he’d chop off her head and that kinda thing
nice
she sat on the stool
spinning wheels often have as a rule
feeling desperately blue
but the next thing she knew
a crazy little imp blew
into the straw-filled spinning room
(an imp being a hideous sprite
not the kinda thing you like to see at night)
but the imp was handy though
spun his impy way through
all the straw piled up in the cellar
so she gave him her rings and said thankyou fella
the king was pleased
gold up to his knees
so as a token of his appreciation
locked her back up for more wealth creation
that night the imp danced back across the floor
(how he got in I’m not too sure)
‘I’ll sort you out with more wheaty gold
but only if you give me your first born to hold
and cherish, and keep
which as deals go was creepy and steep
but the girl said fine and lay down to sleep
and when she woke up
the imp firmly spoke up
said don’t forget your solemn promise
tapped his prominent proboscis
cackled & vanished
as in came the fascist
who was so pleased to see such easy riches
he straightway made the poor girl his missus
(which is a horrible thing to have to say
but I didn’t write this fairy tale, okay?)
years passed
the king and queen had a baby at last
which is when
the imp came back again
as he rubbed his hands and advanced
the poor queen begged him for a second chance
the imp relented
(in many ways he represented
the fairer side of fairy tale fiends
and a whole lot nicer than kings & queens)
‘I’ll give you three days to guess my name
and if you fail I’ll make my claim’
(I know – the challenge doesn’t sound all that brutal
but the story was written a few years before Google)
the queen
tried everything
but nothing
seemed to work
despite a list from the registry clerk
until day three
when the queen accidentally
came across his cottage
and without the imp’s knowledge
watched as he skipped
around a barbecue on bricks
and prematurely rejoiced
in a skimpy, impy voice:
Tonight tonight, my plans I make, tomorrow tomorrow, the baby I take.
The queen will never win the game, for Rumpelstiltskin is my name
the queen took a notepad from her gown
wrote it down
slowly
phonetically
because Rumpelstiltskin was tricky unfortunately
when the imp appeared at court
the queen drew the whole thing out for sport
Freddie? Bilbo? Emmanuel? Dave?
the imp rubbed his hands, said ‘behave!
one last go, no ifs, buts or maybe
I’m only here to collect the baby’
‘Rumpelstiltskin!’ cried the Queen
standing, pointing straight at him
the imp looked livid
went flaccid – then rigid
stamped his curly impy pumps
knocking big expensive lumps
out of the palace parquet flooring
screaming & cursing & roaring
but c’mon! I think you’d be pissed too
all that spinning and the adoption falls through
My heart is heavy and my head is busting / watching these Tories out on the husting / banging on about faith & trusting / all the lies they’re busily thrusting / down the nation’s gagging throat / in a beauty pageant to win the vote / of 200,000 true blue members / especially those that still remember / with a dreamy kinda rinsed blue rapture / the sacred figure of Margaret Thatcher / patron saint of benefit snatchers / who rode a cock horse to Banbury Cross / and slayed the dragon of the union boss / and was never a lady much for turning / not even when the cities were burning / but sank a goodly number of ships / and used her handbag hard on the whips / and where there was discord, brought forth harmony / and where there was Irish, brought forth army / and where there was discord, brought a little hope / especially if it came with a rope / a trident missile and a periscope / a riot shield and a baton charge / oh tell me where thou resteth, Marge? / for verily we need thee back in charge / your blood may have been bitter as the xenomorph from Alien / your hairdo hard, your compassion subterranean / but at least there was a certain rusty heft / to the way you set about gutting the left / and though my loathing transcended this earth / you make this current bunch look like the smurfs
sometimes Stanley just stands
let me expand…
Steve the carpet fitter
stopped by to measure
everywhere the carpet was going
so there was a lot of toing and froing
and expertly showing
what would go where
what we had to prepare
Steve running round with a measuring tape
because everything was old and an odd kinda shape
but honestly Steve was great
worked at an impressive rate
then sat down in the kitchen
to do the addition
plus commission
costing out the whole proposition
Stanley slowly padded over there
and stood right up against Steve’s kitchen chair
his wild and crazy hair
sticking out everywhere
(Stan’s hair, not Steve’s
Steve was pretty much bald I believe)
his right eye a fright
these days almost completely white
so what with the hair and the white eye combi
looking like a lurcher zombie
hello fella! said Steve
Stan neutrally received
the strokes and fuss
like a wonky dog who’d been stuffed by us
and put on castors to wheel out to guests
who were secretly spooked but acted impressed
I’m the dog whisperer – with a twist
more like the dog hypnotist
he said
giving Stan one last ruffle of the head
then straight away turned back to his quote
because he was obviously a focused kinda bloke
and that’s it
sometimes Stan just stands and won’t quit
not until he’s tempted away
if he hears you opening a delicious tray
let’s say
of Cesar Country Stew
or he’s whistled up onto the sofa by you
or we find & squeak his favourite octopus
when his sudden animation is always a shock to us
look! the light from all those systems
is billions of light years old
I savour each sweet photon
with arrays of beryllium and gold
but ask me if God had a hand in it all
hey! save it for the Pope
your big beard theory
is weird, sincerely
laughs the James Webb Deep Space Telescope
I’ll send you back the data
so you can analyse the gases
and clarify the pictures
of galaxies in their masses
but ask me why humans destroy their world
well – it’s WAY beyond my scope
all that stuff
is far too tough
sighs the James Webb Deep Space Telescope
I track each ancient target
to see how far they’ve roamed
as I sail my lonely orbit
a million miles from home
ask me to turn and evaluate Earth?
sorry, you haven’t a hope
there was plenty of time
to read the signs
cries the James Webb Deep Space Telescope
