Author: jim clayton

the app

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

this traffic app’s crap
whoever’s the developer needs a slap
you may as well give up and use a map
a dusty one from the middle ages
that runs to fifty crusty pages
marked in places here be dragons
take a right for plague and flagons
following the sun south by southwest
the roads are for horses so do your best

I must’ve been crazy
but I used one called Waze
and I don’t want to trouble you
but if you flip the W
you get Maze
which pretty much covers the tricks it plays

I mean come on
all I wanted was the M1
that’s not a hard one
the traffic spine of the country
that furred up artery
of anaemic carpuscles on endless car journeys
road rage, end stage, exhaust pipe particulates
driving it the equivalent
of de-threading a prawn
with Leeds the tail and the head good ol’ Londawn
basically the country’s alimentary tract
full of shit and that’s a fact

I asked Maze to take me there
Maze said what … THE M1…? you SURE?
I said yeah
I was prepared
antideps: check
bottle o’water: yep
I’d signed the waiver
accepting all blame for my crazy behaviour
ready to join at junction 10
vanish and never be seen again

happy daze
so anywaze
off I went
next thing I knew I was lost in Ghent
apparently
a port city
in north west Belgium
I said hmm
Maze?
you’re crazy
you couldn’t be further off the track
turn us around and take me back

five minutes later I’m at the Colosseum, Rome
80 CE the date that’s shown
the crowd are furious
but not a little curious
to see a guy in a Skoda Yeti
tooting his horn at a gladiator with a machete

I screamed Maze? this is incredible!
your orientation’s TERRIBLE
take me back to where we started

so suddenly it’s 360 million years ago
and I’m flippering my way out of a swamp, so you know

I’m texting you now to say I’ll be late
and if you could give the dog his tea that’d be great

the promotion

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

dad appeared again last night
(I know, what are the chances, right?
all those years so buttoned up;
now he’s dead he won’t shut up)

this time was different
this time he was magnificent
in a tailored suit and fedora hat
a silver-topped cane and oxford spats
whaaaaat? I said
sitting up in bed
Alright, son? said dad
politely tipping the brim of his hat
grinning broadly from here to here
or those hollows where he once had ears

son? he said, looking around
then hanging his hat with my dressing gown
this is the last time I’ll be able to visit
though I hope you know I’m with you in spirit
the heavenly council have met and voted
and hey presto I’ve been promoted

that’s good – I think – I said, confused
unsure about the terms he used
promoted? really? from what to what?
hopefully not to anywhere hot…

nothing like that, he said; don’t worry
you shouldn’t think of death so terminally
it’s more a progression of altered states
and the clothes fit better and you don’t pay rates
all you gotta do is keep your nose clean
(which I have to admit is a tricky routine)
and eventually you get your reward
and a clothing allowance from the lord

so what are your duties? I hope it’s okay
you look a bit gangstery today

personal preference; I like to be sharp
though I wouldn’t go quite as far as a harp
my job description’s pretty whack
I don’t do much and they pay me a stack
all I do is witness god’s wonders
basically there to make up numbers
all things considered it’s easy work
and pretty good going for a printer’s clerk

what wonders? I said, the planet’s a mess

well let’s just say it’s a work in progress
things have always been in a state
but I didn’t come here for religious debate
it’s just that after a period of reflection
I regret not showing you more affection
it wasn’t that I didn’t feel it
it’s just I was brought up to conceal it
so – that’s it – that’s all I wanted you to know
and he reached for his hat and turned to go
and stood forlornly on the rug
so I jumped out of bed and gave him a hug
(which felt a bit awkward, but .. you know
as I gazed up into his empty sockets
and he took his phalanges out of his pockets
and returned the squeeze, and we stayed there a while
till he vanished in characteristic style
and I said to the air I knew that of course
now rest in peace you funny old corpse

please hold II

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

thank you for your call
we are currently experiencing high demand
and it might be better to call back
at another time
alternatively
have you tried divination?
there’s a mountain I’ve heard tell
a cold, faraway place
accessible only by foot
or hardy llama
a monastery there
rickety on a crag
where legend has it
every blood moon
the holy ones stand naked
upon the ramparts
offering their monkish tears
to the Tinea:
giant, moth-like entities
wings shimmering
like silver shrouds
who flap around their pates
uncoiling their proboscises
to sup upon the salty blubber
and thus sated
and the shivering monks
amusingly agitated
grant a singular vision
to the eldest amongst them
who hath done the course
within the last twelve months
and hath a certificate

so

ask them
they might know

dinosaurs are go!

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

dinosaurs are go!
how they got here
I don’t know
but they’re swapping the swamps
for big city romps
neon sign dining
and downtown chomps

ain’t it just like T Rex
to pose and flex
before it wrecks
the shopping mall and the multiplex?

just listen to the roars
of Pterosaur
as it pterosoars
then pturns to pterrify
the ptraders on the ptrading floor

and heaven help those puny cops
in the armoured car that bangs and pops
as it runs up on sirens and fatally stops
by Ankylosaurus and Triceratops

the channel news helicopter
going for the wow factor
acts as distractor
for Velociraptor

while palaeontologists
are pilloried as apologists
by rancorous news anchors
and columnists

then … everything falls quiet
TOO quiet
nobody expected anything like it
the dinosaurs
resorting
to a more lawful diet

ten years later
everything’s straighter
Allosaurus working as elevator
Apple signed up with Baryonyx
to model hot brands of mobile phonics
Kimmel makes a fuss
with Parasaurolophus
saying Hey man it’s Paris for all of us
DJ Archaeopteryx
has feathers in the mix
with Aaron Dessner and Taylor Swift

but a dawn will break in the big city swelter
when they wake to the sun on the old river delta
and rising as one they’ll shiver their tails
to sweep all the people over the rails
those audacious, cretaceous, reptilian heirs
reclaiming a world that once was theirs

please hold

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

thank you for your call
we are currently experiencing high demand
and there may be a delay
connecting to one of our customer service representatives
alternatively
why not try visiting our website?
augury
chuck sticks in the air
see how they land
sleep awhile
with an uncut bible
for a pillow
and when you awake
write your dreams
on a true, flat stone
and skip
over standing water
you should not have called us today my friend
we are in your fingers now
your synapses
that laughing?
that’s you, that is
please hold
for the next available
necromancer
you are number…less
in the void

last night of the tories

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

SOLO
Dear Land of Dopes, by Dopes art crowned
There’s so much I don’t get
Those Corpr’ate brows, their greed unbound
Once more there’s nothing left
These feudal laws, by Brexit gained
Shall whip thee well and long;
By Sun and Mail the lie maintained,
The country sold for a song

CHORUS
Land of Hopeless Tories, Smothering the Free
How shall we console thee, who are mourning thee?
Tighter still and tighter shall thy chains be set
Whoever made this god awful mess should be made to clear it up
Whoever made this god awful mess should be made to clear it up

I’m gonna do whatever it takes to do whatever 

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

procrastination is my middle name
or would’ve been
if I’d made the appointment
sniff
some people are built for speed
me?
well… not built exactly
a bit more abstractly
brought together
y’know?
flotsam and jetsam on the ebb and flow
a concatenation of wind-blown scraps
twigs n’sticks and wrappers from snacks
a sad sack
figure of wax
someone sat
too close to the fire
and quickly expired
melting into a comedy blob
they keep as a talking point, back of the shop
that kinda thing
but I think I’m improving
I’m determined to get better
I’m gonna do that course (if I can find the letter)

one flew over the lurcher’s basket

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

occasionally
Stanley
would spectacularly
stretch out on his side on the floor
give his front left leg a gnaw
with a howl that was deafening
his back legs pedalling
all in all it was pretty unsettling
like the poor thing was wrestling
invisible wolves in life or death matches
these desperate episodes coming in batches
of twos maybe threes
so we took him to the vet’s, obviously
and she said unfortunately
I think your dog has epilepsy
(although to be sure she’d need more tests
which at his age would cause him undue stress
so maybe a palliative route was best)

the medication made him a zombie
a listless lurcher / throw pillow combi
till cutting the pills seemed kinder and easier
we’d see how we went with just analgesia

and suddenly he was cured!
a lot more settled and self-assured

Differential diagnosis?

it’s probably because he’s quite a diva
in acting terms a high-achiever
making the most out of low level pain
the kind you might get from a muscle strain

(still haven’t taken him back to the vet:
WAAAY too embarrassed to tell her yet)

existential dread at the toy museum

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

I scare myself at the toy museum
which feels more like a mausoleum
a carpeted, air-freshened, place of the dead
where they’ve chosen to bury toys instead
puppets, bears, acrobats,
sailor babies, freaks like that
every toy with a curling caption
fixed expressions of stupefaction
staring through the dusty glass
at the aimless ghosts who whisper pass
in and out through a low-lit door
opening hours ten till four

the worst of it is a railway track
that runs the length of a case and back
the tiny figure of an engineer
one arm waving as he steers
in oily overalls, jaunty cap
neckerchief in plastic flap
cotton wool smoke from the tiny funnel
as he drives his train through a length of tunnel
emerges, waits, goes in reverse
back down the track he just traversed
ending up at the starting place
then setting off at the same, slow pace

he looks so happy fixed like that
cows and sheep along the track
painted houses, painted trees
everything perfect, permanently
his memory gone as he goes in reverse
the doomed engineer forever cursed
to twenty seconds of active bliss
the best he’ll ever know of this
we hurry back to the light of the lobby
congratulate the owner on her wonderful hobby
(but strictly between me and you
I’m worried she’s an exhibit, too)