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
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)
with apologies to W.B. Yeats, who maybe had dogs and would understand
Turning and turning in the widening path The lurcher cannot hear the owner; Walks fall apart; patience cannot hold; Dog anarchy is loosed upon the world, The off-lead time is lost, and everywhere The ceremony of exercise is doomed; The beast lacks all conviction, while the owner Is full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand; Stanley’s never coming back goddamn. Coming back! Hardly are those words out When a vast image out of It’s Me or the Dog Troubles my sight: somewhere there in acres of forest A shape with lurcher’s body and the head of a mop, A gaze blank and witless as a sheep Is moving its arthritic thighs, while all about it Reel shadows of indignant forest squirrels. The clapping starts again: but now he knows That ten years of patient training Were vexed to nightmare by a cloddish head, And what rough beast, its hour come round at last Slouches towards baffled Jim to be warned
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Reviews:
I didn’t read any poetry before I’d sooner slam my head in a door but when I downloaded a coupla stanzas I became poet laureate – what are the chances? (five stars)
I always thought that fiction was lies poetry a puzzle for snooty guys I only read manuals, the papers and that now I know words like ziggurat (five stars)
bought a poem, turned out shit really not at all happy with it as soon as I took it out of the box it fell to bits and ruined my socks asked for a refund, felt a bit sick all they sent me was a limerick (one star)
well smack me arse n’call me Raymond if this ain’t the way to fame and belch whatever mate, yeah sorry – didn’t see you standin’ there anyway who needs a sense of self proportion wot an abortion mate you’re too ugly n’ too late you oughta’r ‘ve thought’ve that right off the bat you miserable twat you’re basically lazy paddlin’ in shit while we’re swimming in gravy n’ listen mate – maybe if you said the odd nice thing for the Daily Mail you wouldn’t be a sprat but a baby whale nice n’blubbery, morally free top o’the tree, mate – top o’the tree King Kong ain’t got nuffin’ on me you jes’ gotta learn to act n’speak right when to fix fings, when to fight maybe then you’d be alright son yeah mark my words do yer time, do yer bird grease a few palms, kiss a few swords n’you could be shittin’ in the house o’lords
I’m so hot I got in a spot when I stopped for a hug with the human torch and he swore and said his back was scorched then said game on frowned at me and said flame on which I have to say put a strain on our fantastic relationship (actually – more like a situationship)
I’m so hot the sun said stop I’ve been watching you off and on a lot sandalling about, stealing my job there’s only room for one fiery blob position taken and I was sadly mistaken if I thought he wouldn’t report all the rules I was breakin’ he was like Jim! I’m a ball of hydrogen and helium I said d’ya mean plasma? he said yes mate, premium
I think it’s basically and unmistakably the case that when you stop and look at the place you have to conclude we’re screwed and God doesn’t give a shit that’s it that’s all I have to say on the subject we’re over-hyped and over-budget
and I’m sorry if you’re worried about God being absent and you scrabble through the cabinet for muscle relaxant because you’re not consoled by the thought there’s no one at the controls no one harvesting dutiful souls ticking off names on golden scrolls angels applauding lifetime goals (etcetera, etcetera like God’s some kinda administrator)
no because you know God’s a human construct for legislating conduct loving you today, hating you tomorrah look what He did with Sodom & Gomorrah everybody getting the cataclysm you say it’s Freedom, I say hmm it really isn’t
and if He ever did exist he’s patently quit sick and tired of the care required his permit for Eternal Love expired mankind a messy misfire somehow hardwired to self-destruct a bit confused and somewhat fucked the prototype sucked the first-born Adam up and at ‘em a little too busy with the tarmacadam driving out of Eden proceeding at speed in a four-by-four he didn’t need with God as his witness off to do business breaking his word and spreading the sickness
and so on but I’ve only got the bible to go on
and even if you insist I’ve missed the point which is God gave Man the run of the joint as an exercise in freedom an early example of a Holy threesome living it large in the Garden of Eden I’d say that was a high price to pay for trashing the Earth at the end of the day
so despite the fact I sense you’re annoyed here we are hurtling through the void with nothing but our egos and a pramful of toys until Nature steps in a little after lunch says come on people this is the crunch you’ve had your time now I must insist you absolutely cease and desist I’ve got some other deals on my list and the planet gets spritzed and we all get fritzed and it’s not only God who doesn’t exist
jim clayton 