poems

E.T. Stanley

~ jim clayton ~ 2 Comments

Stanley was recently abducted by aliens
skimming the forest for homo sapiens
but their tractor beam missed in the spooky fog
and they ended up with an annoying dog

as they closed the glowing cargo doors
and saw the size of Stanley’s paws
they probably thought they’d bagged a yeti
and screamed as he jumped up on the settee

they tempted him off with alien treats
then buckled up snug in their saucery seats
as the spaceship wobbled and sped away
about a million feet per second I’d say

but half way back to the Outer Nebula
Stanley started to whine quite regular
until they snapped and shot straight back
and beamed him down to the forest track

and how do I know this? well – luckily
I could see the whole thing from behind a tree
I mean – aliens are smart and pretty advanced
but handling Stanley? No. Not a chance

gladys’ baby

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

Mum’s friend Gladys
had this
realistic model baby
she loved like crazy
pushing it everywhere in a pram
not giving a damn
what anyone else thought
when she sat on a bench with the milk she’d bought
rubbing the baby on the back to wind her
supporting her chin between thumb and finger
dandling her on arthritic knees
chatting away happily
nodding warm and motherly hellos
to the creeped-out parents and PCSOs

Gladys’ son Fred
bought her the baby she said
for one HECK of a lot of money
from an online site for prospective mummies
exactly why, she didn’t say
maybe it was easier for him that way
easier than being the baby that grew up
into the usual, realistic, adult-sized screw up

status update XXVIII

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

I’m Wilsaaaaaahn out in the wild sea drifting / slowly turning, rolling, lifting / smeary smile & bloody shanks / finally away from beardy Hanks / just me, the sky & the sea birds, thanks

And that’s me, scrawling in the sand with a stick / bawling when the sea creeps over it / wiping it slick / but at least the whole thing’s over quick / because time and tide wait for no one / from Donald J Trump to Frosty the Snowman / when it’s gone, it’s gone / there’s nothing to be done / the earth still rolling round the sun / Mars – corner pocket – in off the red / let’s put this cosmic dance to bed / this paper chain of teeth n’bones / remote controls & mobile phones / tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow / providence in the fall of a sparrow / Shakespeare had the whole thing sussed / basically life’s a busted flush / in fire we trust / I’ll dance on the beach, you pray if you must

the build up

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

Oh what is that awful, mournful wailing
super-sorrowfully assailing
my trembling ears while I sit here waiting?
THE WARNINGS OF A TERRIBLE BANSHEE?
No – just our Stanley
Please ignore him
If you feed him early you’ll just reward him

For the love of God what’s that lamentation?
That woeful whimper-and-whine combination
disturbing my telephone conversation?
SOME TORTURED SUBTERRANEAN MONSTER?
No – just our lurcher
Don’t make eye contact
If he sees you looking he’ll think you’ve cracked

Holy Mary Mother of Jesus!
What is that keening so thin and grievous?
Merciful heaven won’t someone relieve us?
THE TEARS OF AN ARISTOCRAT OFF IN A TUMBRIL?
No – just our mongrel
It couldn’t be grimmer
There’s still at least an hour before dinner

trussonomics

~ jim clayton ~ 2 Comments

there were five in the bed
and the banker said
roll over! roll over!
so they all rolled over
and the sick fell out

there were four in the bed
and the banker said
roll over! roll over!
so they all rolled over
and the jobless fell out

there were three in the bed
and the banker said
roll over! roll over!
so they all rolled over
and the struggling fell out

there were two in the bed
and the banker said
roll over! roll over!
so they all rolled over
and the JAMs fell out

there was one in the bed
and the banker said
Goodnight! Sleep Tight!
Hope the landlords don’t bite!
Oh what a lucky lot we are
to have our own bed and a fat cigar
then yawned and deliciously wriggled his feet
ignoring the shouting down in the street

Spider!

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

there was a spider in the sink
when I went to wash my plate
like a stationary punter in a rink
who never learned to skate

I’m not a fan of spiders
espcially the wild n’hairy outsiders
abdomens active as hadron colliders
four pairs of furry culottes and spats
fanny packs & black slouch hats
more swagger
than jagger
if jagger had eight legs
not two
and fronted not The Stones but The Who

maybe

like I say I’m not crazy
about those creatures
whose rough n’ready features
are enough to give me seizures
and inspire unorthodox procedures

so I used the corner
of a scrubber
(sure – I’ve had practice)
scooped him with a shudder
shook him onto a cactus

I looked as he stared at me up from the pot
did he thank me for my trouble? no, he did not

to be fair, though
flying through the air so
unexpectedly
would theoretically
be enough to make anyone feel traumatised
and it’d take you a while to get properly organised

if I’d been wandering round stainless steel flats
behind me a plughole, above me, taps
I might be more than a little uneasy
swept up by a squeegie
rudely removed
from THE WORLD OF SMOOTH
to be cast in THE LAND OF SPIKES
I mean YIKES
I’d be desperate
close to collapse
a spike in the spinneret
and one in the paps

but this spider’s a survivor
we’ll learn to coexist
him as hairy fly provider
me as home economist