poems

Hammer Horror

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

prop
strop

Peter Cushing
keeps pushing

for a reshoot
says his suit

feels out of character
yes – he’s an actor

but everyone has their limit
and HE’S reached HIS, goddammit

the director shouts take ten people
puts his fingers in a steeple

Pete he says we’ve talked about this
we really can’t afford another wardrobe crisis

talk to Chris – he’s a cheery sorta bloke
he seems to be coping despite the cloak

take it as a challenge; van Helsing of Mayfair!
oxford brogues, sharp threads, pince-nez and long grey hair!

Pete says I accept the prof in a stovepipe hat
but I draw the line at a fucking silk cravat

and the golden paw goes to…

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

Stanley’s claws need clipping
‘cos his paws keep slipping
on the laminate floor
unfortunately
because although it scores
pleasingly for ease of cleaning
for long-legged dogs it’s less appealing
and sometimes Stan spins around on his snoot
like Bambi on ice but not so cute

Stan HATES the groomer;
he’d really rather sooner
offer his paws
to the slavering jaws
of a grizzly bear
than have them scissored by the assistant there

(it’s bad enough
when you give him a brush;
his acting would make even Jim Carrey blush)

so – the vet’s it is
and it’s a pretty sticky business
the vet cries what in God’s name IS this?
Can I get a hand in here, Jenny?
I think this lurcher’s up for an Emmy

a conspiracy theorist goes shopping

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

…and another thing / the moon landing / US BS governmental grandstanding / don’t tell me you’ve actually gone n’bought / all that shit ‘bout an astronaut / one small step for man? I don’t think so / unless it was on wires in a Hollywood studio / the picture they took of that flag is pure crap / there ‘ain’t no wind to make it flap / there’s a lot of stuff out there, my friend / how d’ya think JFK met his end? / it was the CIA what shot him through / Abraham Lincoln and Princess Di too / nine eleven was an inside job / Kermit the Frog and Sideshow Bob / Democrats are lizards from another galaxy / the Earth isn’t round that’s a communist fallacy / aliens hold dances for nurses and nuns / in a great big hangar in Area 51 / COVID 19 was nothing but population control / Mount Rushmore is filled with pirate gold / the statue of liberty is a great big camera / to monitor the spread of a certain diaspora / those trails in the sky? ya think planes, perhaps? / no my friend that’s compliance gas / n’here’s something interesting that’ll make you jump / the great-great-great grandson of Jesus and Mary Magdalene is Donald J Trump / I mean – what the hell ya think the J stands for? / they’ll tell ya John but I’m not so sure / and when you go to vote, be in no doubt / they’ll make you use a pencil so they can rub it out / Bigfoot, Nessie, Elvis Presley? / controlling everything indirectly / via underfloor channels on the QAnon / that’s where I get my intel from / I convert that white noise kinda signal / into interesting collections of colourful pixel / which dish the dirt on the shit they did / from J K Rowling to the Pyramids / Marjorie Greene – hell – I’m a real admirer / now – gimme twenty lights and a National Enquirer

The Lurcher

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

(with sincere apologies to Wm. Blake)

Lurcher, Lurcher, burning bright,
In the living room tonight:
What immortal hand or eye
Will fling the nearest window wide?

On what polluted rugs or sofas
Burns the fury of thine odours?
On what lap dare he aspire
To lift his tail and ease the fire?

And what mouldiness, & how tart
From the twisted sinews of thy arse
And when thy guts begin to heat
What dread sound? & what dread squeak?

What the clamour? what the screams,
In what furious, faecal dream?
What fresh hell? What dread gasp
When supine canines spritz their arse?

When the stars threw down their treats
And walked the earth’s first lurcher sweet:
Did God smile his work to see?
Did He who made The Nose make thee?

Lurcher, Lurcher, burning bright,
In the living room tonight:
What immortal hand or eye
Will fling the nearest window wide?

status update XLVII

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

sitting comfortably? / then we’ll begin / watch as I fly us closer in…

to a frog in a suit with a fine cigar / waiting on the forecourt for his fancy car / a beetle-chauffeured bentley / wealthy evidently / looking sharp n’flippered / muscle massage, colon lavage, sauna kippered / wallet zipped / bitcoin dipped / faux political / hyper-critical / chthonic, masonic, anti-woke / not the kinda pond-life bloke / who gives two shits or a flying croak / about climate change and the so-called crisis / knows about shares and pushing up prices

watch as I soar away over town / to see what else is going down…

a puppet laughing as he cuts his strings / bored with the bug and everything / Gepetto staggering in with an axe / scared of fairies, scared of facts / out of control, can’t relax / what you might call a little reactionary / the word transitioning missing from his vocabulary / so the whole adventure unrolls inevitably / painfully slowly / lost and lonely / swinging in a cage with a mean Stromboli / pleasure island donkeys, a whale-sized ship / lampwick, screwball, corner pocket / somebody stop it! / hooves for the salt mine, father! father! / trawling the oceans his bug in a lather / but they all get saved / by the gracious wave / of the blond with the wand in the puppet arcade

stay as we brave the city lights / swoop down low from the glitzy heights…

to the Met Gala carpet, everyone arriving / paparazzi climbing / shouting and fighting / a chorus of smiles for the camera lightning / Gosling in a gimp suit, Timothy in a tux / Kardashian in a mashup of Costa coffee cups / and here comes gorgeous Kendall Jenner / in super slacks by Marks n’Spencer / a monkey and a husky / waistcoats by Swarovski / Stormzy performing in a cellophane onesie / and suddenly I’m done / and I’m flying the drone high over everyone

back to reality, back to the pad / the Holy Grail to Sir Galahad / open the window, let it in / set the drone down and plug it in / download the pics – you get the gist / tomorrow it’s yours to do as you wish / get the shots of the shit that I missed / no no I insist / now fuck this flying, let’s get pissed

The Gospel According to Braverman

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

I. And Jenrick looked upon the water, and saw the refugees in boats. And it did move him to cry out to God that this was nothing to do with him but was all the fault of those lefty lawyers selling passports in the temple. And he didst act up pretty tough about it, although he had nothing really to say and everyone ignored him, for the embarrassment was real.

II. And Jenrick didst produce a big, blue bible with a monogrammed Thatcher bookmark, and he didst read from it on the beach: I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me water, I was a refugee and you banged me up on the Bibby Stockholm.

III. And Jenrick didst frown upon the government’s international commitments, saying: Blessed are those who act justly, who always do what is right. But even more blessed are those who stir up social division for political ends, and sit on their hands rather than do what’s right. And God didst lean in and say Wait…WHAT? But it was way past the seventh day and God was pretty wiped.

IV. And Jenrick didst not invest money into services that wouldst properly process the refugees, but didst divert much gold on cruel and hopeless schemes into the coffers of party donors. And all the talents and skills and energies of the refugees were cast down, and they didst cry out in idleness, and were sore afraid. And Jenrick said tough – if thou dost not like it, thous can fuck off. And God lent in again saying Don’t Make Me Use The Flood Again. And Jenrick didst say Not another climate protester! And he didst arrest God for causing a public nuisance. And God didst sigh and say Jesus Christ I’m sooo done with this shit.

incident on platform 9

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

speaking philosophically
when did I become me?
at what precise point
did this idiosyncratic joint
of muscle and gristle
separate from the abyssal
plain of endless eternity
in a messy ward in maternity
at the local London infirmary
and eventually become
that certain kinda someone
who, when waving goodbye to a friend at the station and blissfully unaware of the danger,
turns on the spot
and finds himself lost
in the voluminous beard of a stranger

lonesome lurcher blues

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

how loudly stanley lies
overwhelmingly oversized
the opposite of enchanting
railing and ranting
balefully commanding
the awful acoustics of the upstairs landing
doggedly distraught
dismal as an astronaut
who just missed blast-off
flat as a fur coat a countess cast-off
clamorous as a diva
in need of anaesthesia
tossing back a slug of the milk of amnesia
dire as a gloomy, doomy choir
who hired a coach but the coach was a liar
manifestly mourning
like an underpaid pallbearer over-performing
a sad-sack cerberus, gruesomely throwing some
hades-grade shade totally going some
a dog-shaped fog-horn making you aware
of the hazardous drop to the rocky stairs
an amorous yeti lamenting the loss
of another sherpa who didn’t give a toss
howling the blues like a superstar
all he lacks is a hat and guitar
sounding so mournful you gradually well up
and a walk’s the only thing that’ll shut him the hell up

why stanley why

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

why stanley why
do you endlessly strive
to tunnel and dive
nose-first through the sofa cushions
frantically pushin’
slag heaps of stuffin’
in brute pursuit of a canine macguffin
well thanks for nuffin’

your efforts show
those throws we chose
as part of our dog-proofing manifesto
were laughably hopeless
threadbare pet care hocus pocus
cute but unfocused
buying just two of ‘em almost broke us

I mean – c’mon stanley – what’s the rap?
are you REALLY saying dogs can’t nap
without their paws in a dog dug gap
or is it all just strictly business
to see how quickly a dog digs through this
hot dog hubris
why in dog’s name do you DO this?

to what end?
my curious, furious friend
TO WHAT END?