Author: jim clayton

status update XV

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I’m Peppa Pig on the telly again / the one where Daddy Pig’s voted PM / in an episode entitled PORCE DIEM / where the power goes straight to his flat pink head / but he gets depressed and stays in bed / sick of all the media bleating / about who missed another COBRA meeting / or who exactly paid for what / and who took a free break somewhere hot / or who had a party or who did not / and how it all goes from bad to Patel / via Barnard Castle and Hancock as well / and lucrative contracts for the PPEs / straight to the pockets of the VIPs / that’s Valuable Insider Pals if you please / and how Pappa Pig was brought to his knees / valiantly fighting this deadly disease / and how he was NIBBLING not SWALLOWING the cheese / when the Dick-led Metropolitan phenomenon / were zip tying women on Clapham Common / and other areas of lockdown London / and his hilarious Peppa Cabinet were battening / on the catered buffet for the non-party gathering / while the rest of the general population / were serving the interests of the mother nation / surrendering basic circulation / even if they missed the lonely expiration / of Auntie Flo in her nursing accommodation / then queued for the rudimentary cremation / and hurried home for the official celebration / a gloomy Zoom with the other relations / (Peppa Pig is a porky old lark / but sometimes I’ll admit it gets quite dark)

I’m a rampaging robot / called THE BREXIT BOJO BOT / which Team Tory marketed as a Terminating Polyglot / and threw together in their Right Wing Workshop / but tragically forgot / to fit a big red button marked STOP / and now the B3’s totally lost the plot / speaking & sparking and running too hot / using up what little data it’s got / to screw things up a terrible lot / and tying the country in one big knot / BEEP BEEP Irish Sea Bridge BEEP BEEP Royal Yacht… / BEEP BEEP we may party but you may NOT / meanwhile tossing dodgy coins down its slot / babbling and bubbling and burbling a lot / until Sunak says Deadly Force Authorized, TAKE THE DAMNED SHOT

A Very Stanley Christmas

~ jim clayton ~ 2 Comments

Here comes Stanley Claus
up on the roof
with his big whiskery paws
and his big whiskery woof

He’s driving a dog sleigh
piled up with presents
pulled by nine bichon frise
on supplements

You’ll know when he’s been
the baubles all scattered
the snowman pushed in
the fairy lights shattered

You’ll spend more on repairs
than you’ll earn back in gifts
picking hairs from the stairs
and mending the rips

It’s a Christmas Eve riot
but at least he’s trying
so hide and keep quiet
when Stanley comes flying

flight of dreams

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Stanley’s posture
on the sofa
is that of the highly qualified loafer
head on the arm rest
nose due West
while the rest
of him points East
because this particular beast
will never knowingly be misaligned
no matter how many times
he naps and snoozes
somehow he never loses
his sense of direction
his nose to the West without exception
holding his dreamy attitude
maintaining cruising altitude

take the first exit

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Sometimes when I’m arriving / or leaving / or deciding it’s high time I stopped / and dropped / all the buying and complying / all the dealing and denying / the blind believing / like sometimes when I’m driving / somewhere nice / or not / somewhere cold / or hot / listening to podcasts / forecasts / browsing through broadcast whatnots / the latest schemes / dietary regimes / ponzi queens / killer kitten memes / diana ross and the supremes / political extremes / bin Salman with a book out / on how to plan the perfect Turkish cookout / Cameron with his crook out / in his sheikhy shepherd hut on the lookout / while Johnson jokes from the downing street dugout / that’s papered throughout / with the pages of the standards handbook he’s torn out / and on daytime TV / a deputation from the Chinese embassy / interviews photogenically / on the inherent harmony / of Feng Shui for Peng Shuai / and I wonder whether it will rain again today / and flood / and sweep me away in a wave of mud / and whether I look good in this hood / or whether I should / just accept my age / gracefully / and wander off tastefully / and lose myself in what I did or didn’t do yesterday / and once again I forget what it’s all about / because even though I’ve tried and tried to figure it out / once again I’m circling the roundabout / gripping the steering wheel wracked with doubt

the father of christmas

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The bible has no date for Jesus’ nativity
but given all the shepherds in the general vicinity
winter was likely much too soon
and they cut the cord in May or June

So how did we arrive
at December 25?

Well – in 312 Constantine seized the eagle
and the next year made Christianity legal
the Romans used to celebrate Saturnalia
with a lot of proto-christmas paraphernalia
which was all to do with the winter solstice
a pagan occasion where everyone got pissed
because I hardly think you need me to say
you REALLY need a party on the shortest day
and although Constantine was apparently Christian
it didn’t hurt his political position
to consolidate all the pagan myths
into one big Christmas shopping list

So now when you’re in the supermarket
after queuing in the car for an hour to park it
pushing your trolley round the crowded aisles
sprouts and turnips in threatening piles
with everyone steadily going insane
Band Aid on the tannoy again

you’ll know who to blame

the johnsonator

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listen & understand! the johnsonator is out there
with its hyperalloy rumpled suit and crazy clown’s hair

I need your clothes, your boots and your funny money
as a standards advisor stubs out his fag on its tummy

part Old Etonian, part after dinner speaker
fully armed fantasist and serial cheater

and it absolutely will not stop
till you let all talk of investigation drop

and it can’t be reasoned or bargained with
although you might possibly be pardoned with

a donation or two to the party coffers
because it’s always open to sensible offers

Ode to Brodie

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Stanley’s not 100% dependable
sometimes perfect, sometimes lamentable
looks pretty innocent but we’ve learned to be skeptical
if anything happened I’m sure we’d be liable

having said that, he’s completely fine with Brodie
a stoner dog with a hipster goatee
as happy as a heavy metal roadie
smoking a joint and spooning macaroni

when Stanley and Brodie get together
it’s like a sudden outbreak of sunny weather
the world a different place altogether
horses, dogs, squirrels… whatever

Brodie could stroll through a full-on riot
like it’s nice to be nice man so why not try it
and suddenly the streets would all fall quiet
and the TV reporters would struggle to describe it

he could totally work for the United Dog Nations
sniffing out barking populations
calming volatile situations
wack job sheepdogs, dotty dalmations

and he’d win huge acclaim for his peace campaign
The Nobel Beast Prize, La Croix de Chien
a squeaky bone headdress from the Chief of the Cheyenne
at a ceremony hosted by the actor, Sean Penn

and they’d raise a statue in the market square
and the sunset would sparkle on his curly bronze hair
as the street dogs gathered to read the plaque there:
To Brodie: A Dog Who Dared To Care

status update XIV

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I’m Abraham to Isaac / son – this sucks / but God wants you dead so jump up on the truck / and Issac curses & wriggles like fuck / but dad’s quite the knotsman and he’s plum out of luck / and after a while they get to the rock / and Abe produces a shiv from his sock / to go full Sweeney on his son but stops / because God comes rushing in like the TV cops / and says Abe you da best / this was all just a test / there’s a ram to your left / be my guest / so Abraham merks some random sheep / and they both go home but his son can’t sleep

I’m Where’s Wally? / in a giant, non-compliant paint factory / his scarf just a part of the bustling scenery / zero hours health & safety / as he smiles and waves behind some dangerous machinery / when suddenly / a grabber that favours stripes disproportionately / picks him up appallingly / and parcels him up brutally / so NOW Where’s Wally? / THERE he is! – immobilised on a trolley / ten hours and counting in A&E, unfortunately

I’m Besos and Kirk / riding a shiny cock rocket to work / in space no-one can hear you twerk

I’m Jacob Rees-Mogg / that tweedy old dog / Lord Snooty specs and Fauntleroy fizzog / tossing back the chestnuts and eggnog / the naughty nibbles and such / leaning on Little Cratchett’s crutch / whilst he chuckles at the news / about all the food bank queues / while his offspring peruse / the latest share price reviews / but nanny knows what his weaknesses are / she’s waiting patiently out in the car / with a paddle and a bat / and a snug leather hat / nanny knows everything / mogg did a bad thing / he’d better get ready for some punishing

slated for production

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Stanley’s agent pops round to run some scripts
to see what he thinks and if anything sticks
she watches his tail for telltale flicks

first up is an actioner
about a retired hitman pensioner
played by Jason Statham
who has a lot of balls so Stanley can chase ‘em
but a team of geriatric mercenaries
Jason’s Age UK day centre adversaries
cut up rough
with some fancy silenced zimmer frames and stuff
till Stanley finally has enough
and goes full lurcher
in a real bone cruncher…

Stanley whines
the agent says another time

the next one is a romantic comedy
about a hapless, hopeless professor of paleontology
played by Paul Rudd
who’s good with bones but his love life’s a dud
so he gets himself a dog
writes a blog
attracts lots of flirtatious comments and attention
from an anonymous woman who keeps him in suspension
till they meet by chance
at a place you go to dance
with your pets
but they clash and end up crying at the vets
falling in love as Stanley’s leg gets set…

Stanley sighs
the agent says okay guys

‘BARK’ is a sci-fi dystopian thriller
about the resurrected clone of Phyllis Diller
played by Timothée Chalamet
who puts arsenic in the president’s canapé
then goes on the run
with her giant dog, Hun
whose stock-in-trade is a galumphing great bark
that reduces robots to a pile of parts
and who Phyllis rides like a horse into battle
in the final showdown, downtown Seattle

Stanley sits up
the agent zips up
her attache case
an orthodontically dazzling smile on her face
Well that’s great!
she says
I’ll go ahead and talk to Les
executive director
he cut his teeth in the advertising sector
so he runs a pretty tight ship
she shakes my hand with a crushing grip
Pleasure doing business!
she says
then pats Stanley’s head
as he yawns and turns and goes back to bed