poems

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

That’s Stanley

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

Tarter than a russet or a bramley
More uplifting than a snifter of brandy
Sneakier than the sub in that thriller by Tom Clancy
That’s Stanley

More heroics than a bunch of comics by Stan Lee
Flirtier & dirtier than a cream horn or a fondant fancy
Sassier than a Netflix series featuring Alison Janney
That’s Stanley

Softer than a cashmere pashmina of paisley
Louder and marginally more annoying than the hit musical Annie
Holier and a whole lot hairier than Mahatma Gandhi
That’s Stanley

a little neanderthal music

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

in a perspex box on permanent display
in the national museum of slovenia
is a neanderthal bone flute found in a cave
(please follow on social media)

the snow fell thickly beyond the cave
as cold hands skillfully drilled the bone
then tentatively raised it up to play
sixty thousand years ago

and what are you left with here in this place?
so many long years swept away
the ghostly reflection of your face
an echo of song in your DNA

the word golem

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

Down and down rolls the sun
on a day most emphatically done
the word golem

From a clay of dreams that won’t come
slow & crude as a bare thumb
heart as hollow as a toy drum
the word golem

I cannot speak and I cannot run
from the lumpish creature I summon
my work lies scattered & undone
the word golem

The only way the spell can be broken
is to tear the holy name from him
truth to death become
the word golem

And though my writing hand grows numb
from all the wretched work I’ve done
I shall not call his name again
the word golem

jumblies prenup

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

Would you shoot me if I turned zombie?
Friendzone me if I went all Abercrombie
& Fitch?
weird-out on me if I was a witch?
walk out on me if I was a snitch?
If I had an uncontrollable itch
and would not stop scratching
would you worry about catching
whatever it was I’d got?
Or would you not?

Would you still knead me if I woke up made of dough?
If I was gluten-free would you let me know?
Would you come and stand by my bakery shop window
if I was a shop
and see how many hungry shoppers you could stop
and tempt inside me?
Or would you try to hide me?

Would you struggle if I learned to juggle?
Would you tattoo L for Love if I was a knuckle?
If I dreamed excessively would you prick me like a bubble?
Or like the Hubble
telescope
would you watch me wobble away without hope?
If I said I was an atheist would you threaten me with the pope?

Would you scrutinise my x-rays if I was fractured?
Carry me in your catalogue if I was manufactured?
Run forwards if I fell backwards?
Would you guess all my passwords
write them out with marker pens on placards
then walk round town where all the hackers
live?
If I was Edward Lear would you tell me what rhymes with sieve?
And when you read the end result would you promise not to shiv
me?
Could you ever forgive me?

It’s good to be clear
Sign here

skipping song

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

Get yourself a motorcycle
Get yourself a train
Get yourself a helicopter
there and back again

Get yourself a tractor
Get yourself a van
Get yourself an ambulance
and drive as fast you can

Get yourself a submarine
Get yourself a bike
Get yourself a skateboard
or anything you like

Get yourself a fire engine
Jump up in the truck
and if the fire burns your arse we wish you lots of luck

we wish it once, twice, three times four
five sees six and seven running out the door
eight’s still waiting, nine’s all wrong
ten’s the end of my skipping song

meet the ancestors

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

I finally got round to the family tree
and what I found was a shock to me
(because of the colossal weight of material
I focused on the matrilineal)
so follow me now through the DNA wringer
as I light the way with my index finger

Mum was a bowl of hand-pulled spaghetti
Grandma was a fastback forty-two Chevy
Great Grandma was coturnix coturnix, or Quail
G2 Grandma the common whelk, a type of sea snail
G3G was a filthy limerick by Baudelaire
G4G was a hypotenuse square
G5G was a broadway hoofer
G6G was a dyspraxic roofer
G7G was a stir-fry recipe using Pak Choi
G8G was the better-looking sister of Helen of Troy
but I’m afraid that’s where the record runs out
so if you find more information give us a shout