a rock
a crudely worked rock
a nicely worked rock
a spear
a finger painting of a deer with a spear in it
an antler painting of a figure with a spear in it
a god figure sitting on a rock eating a kebab
a golden book with lots of pictures of god in it
a crossbow with a face on it
a cannon with a cross on it
a muscular ship in the shape of a god with a giant golden cannon for a knob
a scorched rock
it’s proper fleet street old school germalism
the cheeky, sneaky, cheque book jism
we liberally spritz
on the arse n’tits
of the supine body politic
yaaah
no doubt abaht it
read all abaht it
in your super rupert saw away sun
the ache in take and the fake in fun
from brexit bollox to winston johnson
tasty
nasty
proper paparazzi
daily mail to daily nazi
dumping on some left wing patsy
a wicked n’wanton
shitpile baron
living it large in the kingdom of the non-dom
from Dubai to Lon-don
accountability long-gone
gee I love it
take your ethics and shove it
you might have the grievance but we’ve got the budget
accept it my friend you’ll never touch it
you gotta learn to relax and say fuck it
hey – we didn’t make the system
business is the illness we’re just the symptom
listen
we hack the phones of murder victims
snowflake celebrities
wannabe nonentities
or they will be when we’re done
jointed in the tawdry, tory way sun
stitched up in a red top
trust me it won’t stop
till we’re cast like demons into the void
all our inky tentacles destroyed
when information
once again
acts for the nation
until then – suck on this circulation
by the feel of it we’re in for a storm
Stanley’s lying out on the lawn
I show him the lead; he shows me a yawn
same
this humid weather drives me insane
it feels like I’ve got a sponge for a brain
I say c’mon stan
reluctantly he stands
a petulant pet obeying commands
the walk’s a drag
a bit of a fag
air, bees, flowers – everything sags
I’m irritable, itchy
the horses by the gate look twitchy
everything, even the light feels glitchy
all at once a thump of thunder
gods in heaven bumper to bumper
(I’m way too hot to think of a metaphor)
a restless stirring in the air
talons of static everywhere
Stanley trots on, doesn’t care
I mean – sure he’s deaf
dodgy right eye, cataract left
but that’s the nose of a michelin chef
can’t he smell a storm a-comin?
can’t he taste the air a-thrummin’?
(why does he think we’re suddenly runnin’?)
a cast iron gate
leads to a square
between the fried chicken place
and Nails n’Hair
in the shadow of the city
crouched like a mouse
a ruined but pretty
old flint house
agnes in the kitchen
eyes like beads
on a wary pigeon
as we talk about needs
she mentions Clark
asleep upstairs
but gives a start
he’s been dead ten years
my sister, too
she says, bereft
what do you do
when it’s you that’s left
she shows me their history
Clark proposing
outside the registry
pouting, posing
black and white streets
fading witnesses
apartments in Greece
work-dos, Christmases
but that’s all stopped
she’s lost in the space
between a Nails n’Hair shop
and a fried chicken place
preempt snags
and leggy drags
by planting your figs in gladstone bags
rhubarb’s best
in a mulchy nest
of dimestore pulp from the old wild west
train wisteria
against the exterior
with public warnings against hysteria
treat begonia
for petal pneumonia
by blasting all night with a rusty euphonia
stop your succulents
from growing truculent
with regular readings from sunday supplements
protect your peony
from bugs if you see any
it’s quite a test
getting Stan to the vet’s
here we are
trying to coax him into the car
which I have to say is no mean feat
when the car’s a mini and the dog’s a sheep
we can’t even tempt him in with treats
the vet said nil by mouth
but without
something delicious
Stanley’s suspicious
tries to swerve us
not a little nervous
resisting with fervour
(standard behaviour
for your average lurcher)
but if getting there’s a little problematical
emerging at the surgery the change is radical
Stanley a wholly other kinda animal
moody and tragical
sturdy and static
moodily dramatic
standing in the stressy waiting room traffic
including
an Italian Greyhound exuding
all the control and canine restraint
of the well-trained puppy she patently ‘ain’t
bouncing around
four paws off the ground
because being there frightens her
or the owner’s feeding her helium to lighten her
or gravity simply doesn’t apply to her
Stanley gives her a soulful look
like a priest with a paw on the holy book
Yea, though we bark through the valley of the vet
we will fear no evil and hopefully get
a treat or two when the deed is done
and they slip on our harness and lead us home
Thumping fingers do thy work / make the poem, dish the dirt / heal the pain and ease the hurt / write the rap and be like Kurt / actually not Cobain but Russell / back in the day when he still had muscle / gritting his teeth through his lustrous beard / flame throwing anything acting weird / I’m talking about that film The Thing / because politics isn’t everything / sometimes it’s easier stir frying aliens / than understanding homo sapiens
I’m a sucker for punishment, a fool for caring / underperforming, oversharing / hypersensitive, over-there-ing / A Disney princess suddenly flaring / deep soul baring / lyrically suspect, a teensy bit wearing / yeah – sorry about the way this went / it wasn’t what the producers meant / when they said they wanted a feel-good time / somebody cute who occasionally rhymes / maybe lives in a shack or a castle / gets an unexpected parcel / goes on a quest with a clock and a cat / cute little characters, something like that / chased by a queen like baba yaga / (we’re currently in talks with Lady Gaga) / till in the end she gets the prince / I can tell by your face you’re not convinced
Years ago Thatcher memorably expressed it / Where there’s freedom somebody fence it / where there’s protest move against it / rewrite history like you meant it / non-event & ten percent it / basically where there’s social harmony / scream blue murder and send in the army
I’m ducking n’diving, divvying up / I’m a water boss with a paper cup / family and hungry billionaires to support / spare me some change for the annual report
Hey – time for another quote / lefty lawyers, tofu woke / anonymous blobs and traitorous blokes / till Johnson and the I’ll-Go-Nuts in a dodgy boat / runs aground and screws the vote / Sunak as Hercules (padded suit) / Braverman as Orpheus with a tuneless lute / (unfortunately comes without a mute) / bringing singing into disrepute / making even pacifists shoot / morally bankrupt, the cut in cute / utterly useless / wannabe ruthless / dreaming of tigers but sabre-toothless / crappy, inglorious / long to rain over us / morals from another, malignant universe / Gods give me strength ‘cos the pills aren’t working / I’ll do anything, Zeus – yeah, even twerking
I’m overwrought and out of time / hanging my words on the reading line / letting the sun and the air get to ‘em / maybe one day I’ll go back through ‘em
hare was laying into tortoise:
all you do is moan and taunt us
twittering on in your dreary fortress
tortoise replied you’re privileged, coked up
entitlement gets me riled n’choked up
come the revolution you’ll be roped up
so they agreed in the press on a little test
a race to see which one was best
hare dashed on, tortoise barely progressed
whilst wining and dining a la mode
hare sold everything even the road
passed laws to shore the capitalist code
used moneyed public school connections
old school ties, police protections
rigged the fairy tale elections
I read the latest news report
tortoise done for disrupting transport
six months said the furious court
now hare is racing a fancy yacht
the fairytale kingdom’s generally shot
and what’s the moral? sorry – forgot
the Basilica of Saint-Sernin
is filled with holy relics
thorns and splinters, blessed sand
assorted bones of clerics
religion’s a lot like magic
when it comes to this
a flair for the ecstatic
a fingerbone to kiss
maybe if I lived in prayer
did what was asked of me
one day it could be my hand there
in a dusty reliquary
or maybe they’d string up all my bones
a wind chime dusted by curates
clonking out my melancholy tones
in a breeze of passing tourists
but I think I’d rather be put in the earth
an apple tree overhead
an altogether miraculous birth
apples of green and red
it’s early in the morning
and I’m standing here, yawning
by the back door
stalling
halfheartedly calling
for Stanley to come crawling
from where he’s currently sprawling
like a starfish on Xanax
or Jean-Paw Marat in a house of wax
hanging out the bath after fifty whacks
dramatically slumped
fatally bumped
not at all zesty, the flipside of pumped
canine flatline, doggie defunct
a string-cut puppet, totally junked
carelessly dumped
on the sitting room sofa
a laid-up,
paid-up
free-style loafer
at the kinda
insider
trade show you go for
the slacker campaigns you’re totally known for
lifestyle guidance, juicy hacks
to flip your potential and loaf to the max
innovative ways to recline and relax
the apostate
of agitate
the kinda mind
even Frankenstein couldn’t animate
numero zero
zilch pzazz
the nap in snappy, the Zees in jazz
giving it nearly everything he has
which isn’t really an awful lot
and is he ready for his walk yet?
(no, he is not)
jim clayton 