poems

the balance of stanley

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

Stanley
as far as I can see
doesn’t have a Plan B
in facts I don’t think plans
feature anywhere on Stan’s
agenda
and I couldn’t recommend a
sweeter way of proceeding
spiritually speaking
Stanley just IS
and anything UnStanley
is frankly none of his biz

take me, today, Monday
slumping down to breakfast, grumpily
shaking out a bowl of cheerios
sighing, putting on the radio
and the next thing I know….

…we need to prepare for a land war in Russia
… media moguls, political corruption
… billionaire boys’ clubs, international recession
…underfunded infrastructure, major disruption
… shrinking glaciers, dying seas
…catastrophic climate emergencies

I mean – please

it’s SUCH a distressing, doom-laden chorus
It puts me off oats in the shape of a torus
(sceptical about these definitions I read to ya?
go ahead and look ‘em up on Wikipedia)

too much info
can get you down, I know
especially if you’re naturally inclined
to psychically combine
bad news into the general feeling
you’re the joker in a pack another joker’s dealing

for balance I look to Stanley
sprawled on the floor behind me
happily gangly
paws over his eyes
and there he lies
and that’s it
and there’s nothing to be done or said about it

so what’s your point? you say
you want us to live like dogs today?
well – not exactly
I think you’re taking this too matter of factly
dogs are dogs, humans human
except on full moons I’m assumin’
but one thing shouldn’t be up for discussion
a lurcher never started a land war in Russia

a miscellany of tory dinosaurs

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

Borisaurus
Thick hide
nothing much inside
except poorly digested ratings
talks about great things
does nothing
too busy stuffing
itself with slogans and crap
one eye on the bank account one on the map
often in a flap
never around to take the rap
stomps and chomps
around the swamp
wears
its hair
in a tousled flop
for all the world like a comedy prop
okay stop
it’s too depressing
at this point a meteor would be quite refreshing

Reesmoggaladon
Unfeasibly tall
no discernible heart at all
the haughtiest of the sauropods
still around despite the odds

Pritipateliraptor
The opposite of delightful
its sharp teeth frightful
carnivorous to the point of spiteful
in summary: brutal
resistance is futile
(at least – that’s what it WANTS you to think
dropping its g’s and dressing in pink
but actually
it’s factually
wide of the mark
the laughing stock of Jurassic Park)

window dressing

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

I kinda got used to seeing it
a scene in a cottage window in the village as I was leaving it
every day
in the morning about 7 o’clock I’d say
an annoying toy display
Buzz Lightyear, Woody and T-Rex
arranged in the window for hilarious effect
a cute tableaux
hanging upside down by their toes
or swinging from mistletoe
at Christmas
for instance
chicks at Easter, that kinda business
Buzz wearing Woody’s hat
T-Rex apparently mad for that
the three of ‘em swinging in a precarious line
from the white pull cord of the window blind
and so on
and on
and on

I mean – you wouldn’t think there was THAT much to go on
but the window dresser went at it with brio
rearranging their Pixar trio
every day a different show
of frozen poses in a village window
but I dunno

you see – the more
I swore
to ignore it
the more
I saw
I couldn’t avoid it
I was compelled to look
morbidly hooked
drawn to see what new liberties they took

it’s odd how all these traditions start
one day you’re balancing toys for a laugh
the next you’re obliged ad nauseam
to manipulate dolls for applauseam

and so it went on for a couple of years
until the Pixar troupe disappeared
replaced by a massive, expressionless bear
that filled the window with its constipated stare

it was quite a blow to see it
I couldn’t believe it
they must’ve suffered psychic trauma
to suddenly turn to THAT performer

but the next day even the bear was scrapped
the window covered in frosty wrap

I don’t know what this says about performance
it’s probably not of any importance
puppets come, puppets go
commuters too and I should know

status update XXIII

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

Click your heels three times my Priti / fly with your monkeys to the Emerald City / where the yellow road’s turned all brown and shitty / where Boris is the Wizard and his little dog’s Toto / and the cliff’s gleam white somewhere over the rainbow / where John Bull splits his Union Jack pants / and Britannia’s broke and forced to dance / for clubs and cabals of junk bond investors / CEOs and company directors / whacked out on coke and artisanal gin / laughing and stuffing fifties in her string

Hello! / you join us at the bougie home / of the right dishonourable Priti Patel don’t you know / minister of spin and propaganda / sipping ice tea on her lovely veranda / waving at the planes flying out to Rwanda / Hi – it’s LOVELY to see ya / and if you’re fleeing persecution I wouldn’t wanna be ya / let me give you some usable quotes / migrants means compliance and boats mean votes / you must always use the correct form if you can get one / and use the right channel and I don’t mean the wet one / but golly – listen to me pretty prattle / here’s my sabre – let’s give it a rattle














			

	


				
					


	

			
long stay parking
		

				

						 ~ jim clayton			 ~ Leave a comment					

				

		

be not mine enemy
but prithee bury me
in an NCP
car park





by thy grace
let me take a space
on the top floor
nearest the door





carefully reverse park
my beautiful casket
woven like a cadillac-shaped basket
chrysanthemums & lilies in the boot
a steering wheel of lavender to toot
bouquets of roses for indicator lights
fragrant circles of orange and white





no need to display
any ticket today
ANPR is pretty fast
they know automatically who’s passed





but if thou shalt require some extra fee
for overstaying one minute of eternity
I prithee – do not wake my dreamless sleep
just dump me on the shopping concourse, level 3








			

	


				
					


	

			
unpredictable
		

				

						 ~ jim clayton			 ~ Leave a comment					

				

		

I write a lot of poems
some of you may know em





(yeah? you SEE?
how naturally poetry comes to me?
apart from the metre
which I’ve always struggled with and have to accept is what you might call my big defeater)





a few people know me but not enough
and I’ve been trying to get to more people with my stuff





so I post em with a picture
on instagram and twitter





talking of which
I’ve noticed a glitch





when I start to write the text
the cursor always predicts what’s next





I get as far as ‘new poem on the…’
whereupon the





prediction comes up with ‘church new wall’
which doesn’t make ANY sense at all





I mean – it’s complete and utter rubbish
(thank God I prof before I publish)





although… I dunno …. maybe it couldn’t hurt
to write a poem on the side of a church








			

	


				
					


	

			
bored
		

				

						 ~ jim clayton			 ~ Leave a comment					

				

		

I’m SO bored
faded and frayed as an old pull cord
banging by a window in the abandoned ward
of a hospital marked for demolition
pigeons and rats at every station





I’m SO bored
my dusty brain beaten, rolled-up and stored
in a hessian mail sack under the floor
of a factory specialising in cheap, chintzy wrappers
the kind you find round Christmas crackers





I’m SO bored
floating like a tart green apple core
nibbled by a sailor then flung overboard
to drift along in the East Australian Current
thinking I was heading home when I wasn’t





I’m SO bored
a crap cat sofa terminally clawed
tossed in a skip when the house was explored
and all the junk cleared out in a day
for a dirty great truck to take away








			

	


				
					


	

			
giving up the ghost
		

				

						 ~ jim clayton			 ~ Leave a comment					

				

		

I was queuing with the vicar in the pharmacy
I had pills to collect and so had he
we stood there waiting patiently
father, son and holy remedy





he said faith is a waste, god an addiction
I said what d’you mean he said pay attention
I’m retired now so the hell with convention
get ready to receive my benediction





fifty years I stood in the pulpit
dressed from head to toe in the full kit
read my lines from the latest booklet
questioned my faith but overlooked it





ever since I lost the collar
I’m short of puff and my heart irregular
two new hips, a dodgy patella
lately I find I’m much more secular





then he turned and smiled quite sadly at me
said he’d enjoyed this little chat with me
Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani?
as the pharmacist called next customer please








			

	


				
					


	

			
the butts
		

				

						 ~ jim clayton			 ~ Leave a comment					

				

		

Mr Butt
somewhat
drawn up
like a head of celery forced in a suit
enormous brown glasses and a laugh to boot
like the hoot
of an ancient charabanc
that’d prang
through the back door
a couple of times a day or more
laughing and generally carrying on
like he was the audience and The Claytons were the sitcom





his wife Vera
quieter and clearer
hair in a coiffed pile
crow wing glasses sticking out a mile
her smile
a little tight
as if she might
accidentally say something she oughtn’t
and her visit could wait ‘cos it wasn’t important
and she’d knock quietly and call coo-ee
and hesitantly
make her entry
to see
if mum wanted her hair doing
Ken laughing and mooing
What’ve you gone and done with Len?
you haven’t gone and tied him up again?
Heaven Help Us! Christ! Stroll on!
I can’t keep up with all you Claytons!
etcetera, etcetera and so on





Many years later
Mum got new neighbours
the Butts moved on to a nearby close
a bungalow
easier I suppose
I went round to see ‘em
Vera in the kitchen
Ken, smaller and thinner
scribbling in a notebook as Vera made dinner





at least he’s keeping busy I said
Vera smiled and shook her head
said thank you dear, took the book
and gave it to me so I could look
pages after page of scribbled lines
the kind where kids pretend sometimes





What can you say except life is in flux
my parents are gone, no iffs, no Butts
and here I sit, Clayton Number Five
busily filling the screen with lines








			

	


				
					


	

			
reunited
		

				

						 ~ jim clayton			 ~ Leave a comment					

				

		

mum visited last night
with dad
both dead
both standing staring from the bottom of the bed
(which was weird
because they wouldn’t have done that
even when I was a kid
SO WHY NOW?
does being dead give you
special visiting rights somehow?)





what?
I said
quickly sitting up
taking a trembly swig
from my water cup





they stood side by side
eyes wide
linked at the elbow
which as these things go
was pretty freaky
resonating unspeakably
with an old wedding photo
they used to have on show
on the mantelpiece
dad in a two piece
mum in skirt and lippy
lurching outta church about 1950





mum cleared her throat
(which is odd for a ghost)
in that unmistakable way she’d got
after years of drinking coffee too hot





‘I just wanted to drop by and say hello’
she said
‘being dead
means you can’t just ring for a chat
and I’m feeling a little bit cross about that
I miss our gossip about dogs
and the odd
patients you’d met
and whether you have or haven’t finished that book yet…’





Dad looked restless
like a punter unexpectedly on the guest list
and not sure what to say
whether to stand or just fly away
I got the feeling she was stealing his thunder
(a cliche you hear a lot and no wonder)





‘Anyway – can’t stay long
Just wanted to drop by and see how you were getting on
We’ll be back again soon to see you, Jim…’





(Which is why I ended up googling ‘exorcism’)