poems

I’m a Demagogue…Get Me Out of Here!

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

Welcome to the new world war / a little different to the ones before / which were just too damned destructive / brainlessly brutal & counter-productive / so in an effort to conserve precious resources / and save ourselves millions on military forces / I’m pitching a saner, alternative event / which I hope you’ll back one hundred percent

I’m a Demagogue…Get Me Out of Here!

Okay – so – all the world leaders / all the conflict pleaders / xenophobia breeders / rally rousing autocue readers / they’ll all be darted / before the conflict’s started / drugged and helicoptered / onto a tropical island we’ve adopted / to undergo the bushtucker war trials we’ve concocted / surrounded by cameras / concealed in bananas / fake cockatoos / pouches of kangaroos / hollowed out bamboos / and so on / giving the viewers plenty to go on / to see what these people are REALLY like / when they’re forced to hike / through inhospitable jungle / and struggle / to find water / or food / and shower in a waterfall in the nude / (that’ll be an extra / you can elect to / pay on top / of the subscription you’ve got / pretty niche I know / but there you go / so…. / if you wanna see Boris / naked in a forest….)

Terribly sorry – technical glitch / forgive the interruption and on with the pitch…

You’ll see Xi Jinping / trying to look cool and convincing / but undeniably wincing / as he sits before the steadicam / chopsticks ready and wham! / they take the lid off the dish / and it’s as terrible and horrible as you could wish / and you watch him carefully raise from the receptacle / a single, wrinkled deep-fried testacle / and after cursing all our yesterdays and tomorrows / he chews it once and bravely swallows

Hear Scott Morrison / chuntering on and on / about nuclear subs and rockets / whilst fondling a Dairy Milk in his khaki pockets

Watch Kim Jong-un / bellowing like King Kong / on a fraying vine rope / as he builds himself up to cope / with the horrifying grope / for tokens in the box / they’ve hung above the canyon of snap-happy crocs

Follow Joe Biden / playin’ hide n’ / seek / with a reaper drone in a bug-filled creek / whilst he’s forced to speak / his thoughts today / on truth, justice and the American Way / and what’s going on in Guantanamo Bay

See Vladimir Putin / using his shirt to carry fruit in / then go full Rasputin / when the vote’s finally in / and he’s out / a popular eviction without a doubt / his tough guy act completed / the entire Russian Federation defeated / which I think you’ll admit is harsh but fair / and the reason this season’s so populaire

Hosted as always by Ant and Dec
who’ll hand the winner a giant cheque
signed by the head of the United Nations
so that’s the format – any questions?

me II

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

I made an approximate model of me
from a disreputable, raggle-taggle potpourri
of whatever old crap
I could find round the flat

A potato for a head
eyes sprouting & scouting ahead
the body
was shoddy
just a sock stuffed with tissue
lumpy in spots but not a big issue
for the arms and legs
an unholy arrangement of wires and clothes pegs
and although it looked it a complete fright
at least it stayed reasonably upright

the next stage was animation
and what I did was an abomination
I downloaded Pinocchio off Netflix
whizzed it up in the Magimix
poured the gunk down this tuberoid monster
then said hello to my blank faced imposter

my fault entirely
it was undeniably
a serious moral lapse
and whilst it’s true perhaps
I should have taken a long, hard look in the mirror
before committing myself to such a mortal error
still
it was a thrill
to slide down that particular
double-helix helter-skelter
and anyway – this funny, potato-headed feller
turned out much better suited
to the challenges of the daily commute
the workplace routines
the tasks and teams
political skullduggery
so – in summary
the dummy me
made a BETTER me

and now I sit here cursing myself
out of reach on the monster’s shelf

the first act

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

of a musical about global warming / called STORMING! / there’s this fishing family / more or less happily / trapping eels on a marsh / it’s relentlessly harsh / heavy on the protein, light on the starch / the father is an Aquarian / a caring but overbearing authoritarian / formerly a librarian / wary, pretty scary / increasingly hairy / who took his family / and friends / way out into the Fens / and started a colony amongst the saltmarsh pens / they weave for the eels / in canoes they carve with ornate keels / depicting creatures with flaming eyes / which isn’t such a huge surprise / given their leader’s / idiosyncratic demeanour / an unholy cross between a lion and a lemur / anyway / the family name is Healey-May / and they carry on in this really eely way / until the fateful day when he weather changes / and the Gulf Stream catastrophically rearranges / the kind of low lying regions / where the Healey-Mays are living for eely reasons / so they get horribly inundated / destroying the lifestyle they created / and the only two that make it out / are the kids I haven’t told you about / Kylie and Jenna / who secretly together / had anticipated the weather / and learned to surf / when all the adults had been going to church / (another detail I forgot to mention / they worshipped a God of their own invention / unsurprisingly an EEL god / which wasn’t that much different to a REAL God / except with gills behind the beard / and a cloak for the tail so it didn’t look weird) / and Kylie and Jenna surf it out / while the rest of the commune flounders about / with the eels and the flounders / and the dangers our duo encounters / are the subject of the second half of this eco musical / which I’ll tell you all about straight after the interval

Stanley vs. The Hay Bales

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

Stanley was confused
he totally REFUSED
to go through the field
where the hay
was displayed
all baled up in wheels

quite why he was scared I don’t know
hay bales aren’t a big deal you’d suppose
but maybe if you’re a lolloping lurcher
you’d worry they’d suddenly roll over and hurt ya

but I have to admit
when I stop and think about it
dozens of gigantic wheels of hay
neatly lined up in a field in that way
IS pretty odd
like the act of some crazy, geometric god
bored with the general mess of creation
suddenly wanting a tighter formation

Stanley CERTAINLY didn’t trust ‘em
he gave them the side-eye when we tiptoed past ‘em
maybe he was afraid
of what else he’d see displayed
cows made of cubes
rabbits tumbling by in tubes
he probably likes his nature more natural
which is why we jogged past on a hasty diagonal

the cad with the hair

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

(with apologies to Dr Seuss…)

The sun did not shine
We had nothing to say
We held a referendum
and it went the wrong way

I sat there with Sally
we sat there we two
and I said how I wish
we were in the EU

And then something went fart!
How that fart made us start!
We looked!
And we saw a big red bus park!
With words on the side
that were big, white and wide
promising the millions we’d earn outside
but no exclamation mark

And we saw him step off it!
And his hat he did doff it!
And he walked in right there!
We looked!
And we saw him!
The cad with the hair!

And he said to us
Why are you two sitting there?
Face it – you lost
to me and Lord Frost
Lord Frost is so funny
the kind of grim funny
that rhymes with no money
so try to be sunny
I’ve got lots of tricks
this thing I will fix
it’s all oven ready
like quick cook spaghetti

Then Sally and I
had nothing to say
Truth had deserted the house
for the day

But our fish said, ‘No! No!
Make that cad go away!
Tell that cad with the hair
you do NOT want to play!
He should NOT be here!
He should NOT be about.
He’s a cheat and a chump
and his brain is a lump
He talks about sovereignty
Take back control constantly
But he deals with facts wantonly
He cares nothing about fishes!
He just does as he wishes!

‘Now! Now! Have no fear.
Have no fear!’ said the cad.
‘My tricks are not bad
Why, what fun we can have!
Lots of good fun, if you wish,
when we lose all our fish
and our exports all squish
and we play a good game
I call fuck business

‘Have no fear!’ said the cad
‘I will not let this fail!
It’s not so bad!
Britannia will prevail!
Hoorah for grand gestures!
Bah sucks to the Truth!
Let’s hunker down proudly
under one leaky roof
The EU was migrants
and bananas and rot
Let’s hold our heads high
and build a big yacht
Let’s cut foreign aid
and hold big parades!
Let’s zip this thing up!
Let’s fill the back pockets
of our friends from the club
Down with Dither & Delay!
You can play right away!
You can play without pay!
Down with dull detail!
We signed the agreement!
which, all things considered,
was quite an achievement

I will hold this country high
as I stand on this ball
Protocols in one hand!
and in my head – why – nothing at all!

‘Look at me!
Look at me now!’ said the cad
‘with a protocol and a cake
and I will eat it
and I will keep it!
I know how to cheat it!
I can hold up TWO notions!
I can hold up the fish!
Sign deals where I wish!
And look!
I can hop up and down on integrity!
because incredibly
you voted for this!’

That is what the cad said
Then he fell on his head!
He came down with a crash
haemorrhaging cash
And the bus with the promise
that was dumb and dishonest
mysteriously vanished
like a big red whale
and Sally and I
saw the whole thing fail

And Sally and I did not know
what to say.
Should we tell our children
what went on here that day?

Should we tell them about it?
Now, what SHOULD we do?
well…
what would YOU do
if your children asked YOU?

status update XI

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

I’m a clown in a library / a circus in a cemetery / a mosh pit in a monastery / I’m Mr Tumbles played by Sean Connery

I’m a flighty ITU nurse / under rehearsed / wrestling with the drips / fixing the respirator with paper clips

I’m a dreary, teary TV drama / about a melancholic melon farmer / who drags in two of his finest favourites / puts ‘em in T-shirts but leaves ‘em faceless

I’m tokin’ n’jokin’ with J R R Tolkein / in an orc den in Hoboken / till the joint gets broken / by eleven Elven cops in slow motion

I’m a glitchy witch with a troublesome itch / dragging her broom under the bridge / vengeful and vexed / cursing her exes / cliche-cackling about what comes next / firing off a bunch of hexes by DMs and textses

I’m Meanderful man, Homosloppiens / body of a pup seal, head of a Pomeranian

I’m the Marks & Spencers mannequin / stuffed in the coffin when the undertakers were panicking

I’m a rooster on the roster, a chimp on the glam / I’m ‘Tell us a story Tory Jackanory’ on a pay-per-view cam

I’m backroom backups, tea with the Queen / I’m outside rinsing with gasoline

I’m corporate distension, business requirement / I’m fifteen years in solitary alignment

I’m great with a gusset but floundering in straps / I’m the bastard war child of Jonhson and Shapps

I’m a spider on a spinning top, a whale in the shower / a giraffe in a scarf who pays by the hour

I’m Rumpelstiltskin / phoning it in / jumping up, singing / Don’t Stop Believin’ / at the Kurly Kicker Karaoke club while the King & Queen are grievin’

I’m a flag on a fender, a shadowless moon
and I’m hoping those UFOs park up soon

adieu, adieu, mon dieu

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

The ghost of my father came back again last night
(I know, right?
it’s all so contrived
I see more of him dead then I did when he was alive)

Anyway, I’ve stopped being freaked by his spooky mug
the more something happens the more you shrug

Sup, dad? I said
as he hovered heavily overhead
pretending to do the front crawl
against the opposite wall
(the irony escaping him
that in life he couldn’t swim
although maybe he was trying to ease the chills
and prove you can always earn new skills)

The thing that really gets me
is why he can’t forget me?
I mean – you’d think he’d relish the chance
to swerve my bullshit badinage
but no – it’s just like Hamlet’s father, right?
Doom’d for a certain term to walk the night
and by the way, whilst he’s at it
criticise the work we had done in the attic

So he does what he always does eventually
which is settle on the bed and talk endlessly
which sounds quite nice as these things go
but he can lie in and I’ve got work tomorrow

It was hot & heady stuff
right enough
exactly the kind of secrets and regrets
that would stop anyone getting a good aeon’s rest
the casual betrayals and sordid affairs
you’d only admit to in Cosmo questionnaires
(then immediately re-work to change your score
and get a result that suited you more)

Did someone murder you, father? I cried out, on edge
Cos I don’t think I’m really cut out for revenge
What? No! he said. What are you, CRAZY?
It was just when your mum was a dinner lady
she had an affair with that Iranian student
who was good at table tennis and liked Ted Nugent

How d’you know all this? I said
She told me later on in bed
and whilst I was turned on for a while
in the end it started to cramp my style
so I took up with that woman from accounts
who said it would work but I had my doubts

He carried on in this way for an eternity
and made me question the benefits of paternity
until suddenly he was struck dumb
My hour is almost come,
he said
rising portentously from the bed
When I to sulph’rous and tormenting flames
Must render up myself – erm – James
Adieu, adieu, adieu! Remember me
– and bailed through the curtains clumsily

So right that second I went on the Net
to buy the best ghost insulation I could get
(a wool & wafer mix from the Holy See
fifty pounds a metre, plus VAT)

danse macabre

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

I’m the puppet in the attic, the bible in the fridge
the part-time preacher out on the ledge
so dusty it’s disgusting
how could I be so gullible and trusting
something somewhere needs seriously adjusting

I’m lightning at the drive-thru, the social media scammer
playing the piano with a ball pein hammer
it’s nothing, I’m hoping
despite all my kitten posts I’m really not coping
the tunnel flooding, telescoping

I’m the barbie in the dumpster, the zombie in the hub
the knight in shining armour farting in the tub
it’s over, I know it
everything to play for and nothing to show for it
one last chance to breathe and I blow it

I’m the devil in the smoking jacket, the monkey in the mall
yoda and a Tinder yeti hitching to Nepal
whatever don’t kill ya makes ya stronger
old bones laughing, dancing the conga
the itch gets scratched but the queue gets longer

I’m the void in the voicebox, the vision in the fall
the clutzy riot cop tasering his balls
c’mon! a mile is just a matter of inches
the palace door’s rusting, coming off its hinges
the princess sleeping on a pea and a pile of syringes

whatever that means
whatever we oughta
hold the stick
throw the dog in the water