poems

status update XVIII

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

I’m Sunak in sliders sucking a popsicle / Truss on a bus and Boris in hospital / nicely stage managed but getting uncomfortable / crowd scenes biblical / placards & principles / typical / I thought we made this woke shit criminal? / we can tell from here they know it’s over / so we run for cover / out of the shit and into clover / ride in the back of a bullet-proof motor / with a crux of champers and a special branch chauffeur / on a rollercoaster road trip to Greece / live tweeted except for the Russian meets / lying as we lie on our loungers on the beach / paying off the police / working on gags for the after dinner speech

I’m ET with his ship on the meter / sticking my neck out saying take me to your leader / but cops will be cops and follow procedure / they brutalise, ziptie the crying creature / think I’m Iranian / possibly Canadian / deport me home as an illegal alien

I’m Scooby Doo / five o’clock shadow and Velma tattoo / snarling at the screws / in the state calaboose / desperate for news / struggling to get through / on the attorney line to the Cartoon Zoo

I’m Jesus on Kimmel / hair by Ferretti eyes by Rimmel / talking about his new book Sacrificial / initially charming / but progressively more alarming / till the producers / worried about revenues and viewers / pull the plug on the studio computers / and Jimmy says shit / that wasn’t in the script / I didn’t anticipate that one little bit / I can only apologise most sincerely for it / and Jesus lifts his eyes to camera 3 / says My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? / can’t you let something go right for me occasionally?

I’m Puff the Homeless Dragon / flaggin’ down a wagon / outta breath and outta luck / fuck / they took the cave when I couldn’t pay / now I’m headin’ for the capital / with all the other fictional radicals / to see what’s cooking and find something flammable

I’m Putin / smiling and putting the route in / to Google maps / scratching my scrote through my John Wayne chaps / while Surge the Purge Lavrov snaps / his antique Red Army braces / photoshopping our faces / onto famous people in famous places / saying Vladdy? / everybody’s favourite, Bond-style baddy? / are you ready? / C’mon! Let’s send tanks to spit some gravel / in a kick-ass convoy down the road less travelled

I’m running a temperature, taking stock / shivering quietly in the dock / I wouldn’t normally call but you’ve always been my rock / and it’s fast approaching midnight on my Elvis clock

MCU latest

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

The Hulk
lost a lot of bulk
on Noom
now he’s the rangiest superhero in the room
finally his pants fit
but please don’t mention it
you’ll only make him hangry
and you wouldn’t want that, frankly

Iron Man
cut himself on a tin can
got infected
the wound went undetected
and when Pepper Potts
finally got round to giving him shots
she found the damage way too frightening
so she packed him off for recycling

Dr Strange
went through the change
got hot flushes
wore his collar high to hide his blushes
went weepy walkabout
whenever he overheard the others talk about
his magical Cloak of Levitation
why SHOULDN’T he wear it to every occasion?

Spiderman
went absolutely hyper, man
flat out flipped
totally lost his grip
finally got squished
by a freelance entomologist
who posed for the national dailies outside
with a mask, a net and a can of insecticide

Thor
felt increasingly sore
sent his trusty Mjolnir
away for a smear
got a call from the lab
confirming what he guessed he had
a bad case of metal fatigue
he’d caught off someone in the Justice League

we never had a dog

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

We never had a dog
when I was growing up
so when I was throwing up
a ball
I had no worries at all
about some dog nicking it
or offering my face and some dog licking it
full in the chops
rolling around play-fighting on the carpet lots
or finding my trousers
sprouting
all over
when I lay on the sofa
for extended periods
it was generally a much less hairy interior
or when I was playing hide and seek and hid
in the curtains
certain
not to be found
I didn’t have a hound
give the game away
by sniffing my way
tugging back the pleats
showing the other kids my oversized feet
or after school watching Scooby Doo
me pointing saying hey that’s you
and the dog sighing contentedly
then rolling its eyes & twitching dementedly

no

we had a hamster

the other side of the flash

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

so world war three
ends fairly
rapidly
the planet is toast
and every last human being suddenly a ghost

benefits are as follows:

carbon footprint = zero
(ghosts don’t need heat, lighting or food, are essentially nude, don’t so much travel places as drift a little when they’re in the mood, so…)

inequality = zero
(ghosts are basically and identically dead, don’t lust after money & power but look vaguely lost instead, everybody draped in a sheet off the bed, so…)

environmental harm = zero
(admittedly starting from a crispy base, but nature slowly reasserts dominion over the place, so…)

risk of infecting other planets = zero
(even if they could build a rocket, they couldn’t ride it, guide it or carry tools in their pocket, and if they landed somewhere they couldn’t lock it, so…)

basically what you’ve got
is a shell-shocked planet that’s smokin’ hot
8 billion ghosts haunting the spot
at least until their guilt’s forgot
which is when, I guess
they’ll all coalesce
into one, long, rapturously heartfelt sigh
and lift like mist to the clearing sky

The Zen of Stan

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

Sometimes when I look at Stanley
sprawled on the sofa magnificently
as relaxed as any dog could reasonably be
arrestingly manifesting his destiny
doggedly, whole-heartedly
well – I’m filled with jealousy

he’s not worried about global warming
governments being reliably appalling
the cost of living soaring
nuclear countries warring
viruses swarming

how many likes you’re scoring

or the struggle you have ignoring
the insta-perfections of the people you’re following
on your phone at breakfast, first thing in the morning

Stanley never loses his grip
but keeps a steady paw on the wheel of his dog-basket ship
and only looks up if he hears you flip
the door to where the dog food’s kept
or he hears you zip
your dog walking jacket
and fill its pockets from the packet
of snacks to feed his tripe stick habit

in other words, his life seems pretty damned easy
free of the stress that can make you existentially queasy
anyway – that’s how the situation seems to me

but then – hold on there! whoa!
maybe dogs hide a good deal more than they show
(although
listening to him snoring pianissimo
I don’t know)

Stanley IS the poem

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

I think when you finally get to know him
you’ll see that Stanley IS the poem

all the techniques he’s managed to perfect
like dramatically hanging paws for effect

and as the frantic pounding of his tail makes clear
he’s more iambic than William Shakespeare

he sneezes in threeses as loud as he pleases
assonance where his expertise is

and he’ll stare into space, and twitch when he snoozes
dreaming of tripe stick flavoured muses

and reliably one full hour before he’s fed
he’ll howl like an elegy from the book of his bed

paws & hands

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

A dog
is a variety of Tetrapod
(We call this one Stanley
just ‘cos it’s handy)

Tetrapod means four feet
which as getting about goes is pretty neat
even if the early human
learned to walk on only two of ‘em

Another interesting fact about Stanley
he’s a perfect example of pentadactyly
the same hand bones you’d find in the flipper
of something like a primitive mud-skipper
our earliest common ancestor
in what is probably now Manchester
no doubt it was nervous
when it first broke surface
but found it wasn’t so difficult after all
to waggle its flippers and learn to crawl
(honestly I’ve no idea why
finger bones should number five
– something to do with the structure of the wrist?
you’re better off asking an ichthyologist)

anyway – if it works, why fixit?
who the hell needs a surplus digit?

and as Jeff Goldblum once famously said
before half the Park was screaming or dead
Life finds a way
oh-kay
thanks Jeff – that’s great
but it’s raining, it’s late
and I think the power just went off at the gate

Stanley the Philosopher

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

At the risk of sounding anthropomorphical
Stanley is actually pretty philosophical
like Sophocles
or Socrates
or maybe Plato
for example, if I’m peeling a potato
to make chips
and one of them slips
onto the floor
he’ll stand there staring a minute or more
interrogating the dialectical question:
are raw potatoes good for your digestion?
but then shake his head sadly and slowly quit
the kitchen and the mess I’ve made of it
to hop back on to the dog-ruined sofa
and fuss awhile with his hairy white toga
and look as sad as any seer would
that witnessed such tragedies and understood

it’s twenty, btw

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

I don’t think there’s anything particularly sinister
that Eton has produced so many prime ministers
it’s not a factory with a neon sign
workers don’t file in respectfully at nine
to stand at a great big assembly line
picking from boxes of eyebrows and toeses
bags of hats, containers of noses
the finished product rolling off in a skip
ready to box-up, pallet wrap and ship

and as far as I’m currently aware
they don’t have a design department there
artists hunched over gleaming desks
sketching out the next grotesques
tall or short, in either sex
with managers arguing in the oaky boardroom
about excess stock in the old school storeroom
and having lots of heated quarrels
about wasting money on giving them morals

No. I think it’s simpler than that
and down to one depressing fact
the pupils are bred to be nonchalant
about taking whatever the hell they want
from public money to a butter croissant
Eton’s just the perfect environment
for growing kids with a sense of entitlement
who see the world as a peach for the taking
and ignoring all the mess they’re making

never mind how the country suffers
from this endless succession of Eton duffers
stomping and stinking up the place
wagging their fancy white fingers in your face
retiring to the Lords while we pay for their mistakes
the old school motto? May Eton flourish!
(which is why the country’s so malnourished)
Britain! A country of venerable institutions
(but very few Eton prosecutions)

round & round

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

Jacob Rees-Mogg is now Minister for Haughty Guffawing, Braying and Hooraying
Nadine Dorries is Secretary for Suspicious Swaying
Priti Patel has gone to Hell
with special responsibility for the Styx as well
Rishi Sunak is Minister for Tricks
Hancock – Minister for Pricks
Michael Gove has moved to Mordor
Liz Truss is Minister for Striding Down a Corridor
Dominic Raab is Lord Chancer and Secretary in a State
Sajid Javid is Minister for Stand in a Line Keep Quiet and Wait
Kwasi Kwarteng crossed himself and knelt down
to be Minister for Business, Energy & Industrial Meltdown
Nadhim Zahawi is Minister for Lunches with at Least Four Courses
half the budget for the heating of horses
but still at the head of this dreadful government
Clown in Chief of Sleaze & Befuddlement
The Right Dishonourable Boris Johnson
(and if he’s a Prime Minister I’m Gloria Swanson)