poems

the day I’ve had

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

the day I’ve had
the DAY I’ve had

I finally make it on to Dragon’s Den
with a pitch
to get rich
as a personal online fitness witch
showing the muggles how to stretch
their hexes
and I demonstrate some magical flexes
safe for all ages & sexes
but the Dragons are perplexed
Peter says he’s out
wiggles the knot of his tie about
Hi I’m Deborah
says Deborah
hi Deborah
(whatever)
my expertise
is the leisure industry
down in the west country?
she smiles at me
and so you see
for that reason, I’m out
I scream & shout
wave my hands about
everyone’s shocked
the room ripples and rocks
floods with green fog
the dragons turn into frogs
I’m led away
by security
but hey – fine by me

honestly – the day I’ve had
the DAY I’ve had

I mean, even though I’m semi-retired
from The Christmas Enquirer
I’m unexpectedly wired
with a task
to unmask
Santa Claus, or Papa Noel
or whatever the hell
it is you call him
and then somehow stall him
and wait for backup
but not rack up
too many expenses
on the flimsiest of pretenses
like last time
I say – okay – fine
so I dress like one of his little helpers
tour the emergency rooms and shelters
till I find him in a candy crack alley in Atlanta
bellowing his bullshit Christmas propaganda
hurling garbage cans
at the tinsel-capped cops in their vans
screaming jes’ a goddamn second, man!
don’t you fuck with those elves!
they’ll piss on your sacks and shit on your shelves!
I get the scoop
but I’m papped-out & pooped
finally done with the glitter and puke
so I go back to writing my book
about the pagan winter solstice
and how much better it is
(I got an advance
from Victor Gollancz
but you soon get through it
so if you could see your way to it
and stand me my rent
I’ll totally cut you ten percent)

our great leader speaks

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

We’re Boris the Builder building back better! / beaver, batter, bother, whatever / a wink to the rich, a nod to the camera / the Eton dodge of sounding clever / while the King is in the All Together, and all together / we read the room and ride the weather / and everything goes to the highest bidder

We’re duped, doped, king of the dump / Donald Duck meets Donald Trump / goofily gazumped / the polar opposite of pumped / run-out and stumped / the quick brown fox was pushed before he jumped

We’re gaslit and witless / on this sceptered isle of deceptiveness / awash with Priti pettishness / Margaret Thatcher fetishists / thumbs in the air, cuffs on the wrists / hapless, hopeless / wide-eyed and faithless

We’re headfirst in the soup / out of luck, out of the loop / led by an anagram of King Cnut / who shoots the Channel a two-fingered salute / then fucks off back to his wallpapered roost / to dish his dodgy donors the loot

We’re Poundland pounders, ounces standard / empty headed, empty handed / empty forecourt, empty tankers / Britannia strangled with a Tory lanyard / Kuenssberg swigging from a Boris Toby tankard / whilst Willy Wonka gets fully willy wankered / with his cabinet of cheerleading chancers and chancres

I don’t know – it gets so waring / all this social media scaring & sharing
nothing seems to make a difference / so anyway – what d’you want for Christmas?

Caution! Lurcher at Work

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

Stanley in latex hat and scrubs
skips back when the artery bursts
wags his tail and shrugs
solemnly holds up his surgical gloves
flaps his ears affably
while a spaniel suctions the cavity

Stanley in a diving suit
pitches backwards off the boat
doggypaddle floats
then paws it down the guide rope
forty metres to the wrecked caravel
his barks as bubbles in parallel

Stanley in a pinstripe suit
queues with the pack for the daily commute
puts his iBone 10 on mute
takes out a hankie, blows his snoot
closes his eyes, yawns
dreams of chasing balls on lawns

Stanley in a pilot’s hat
salutes the marshals with the bats
guns the engines, checks the flaps
flicks this and that
then gives one absolutely devastating sneeze
which means crew prepare for take off please

Stanley in an astronaut’s helmet
floats out through the space compartment
to take care of his specialist department
which is exterior marking management
lifts a leg, opens a flap
pisses on the solar arrays then scrabbles back

levelling up!

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

levelling up!
levelling up!
from Lloyds of London to the Cheltenham Cup
welcome to UK plc
all for one and an extra one for me

where everyone’s a squiffy squillionaire
offshore schemer and property heir
cubs in the mouths of pater and mater
bringing them swinging by their bright blond hair
to the safety of the family lair
in Eton Wick, Buckinghamshire

levelling up!
levelling up!
a stripe of blood and a stirrup cup
for every golden, hyphenated child
running free in the Hunter wellington wild

a place where everyone’s equally called
to Marlborough College or old St Pauls
to debut at the Oxbridge ball
and intern for next to nothing at all
at the family firm on the thirteenth floor
with all your options rigorously explored

levelling up!
levelling up!
with a toast to the boys of the Bullingdon club
the monogrammed button paragons
patrolling the upper echelons

because all it takes for your Alexander or Tamara
is a guiding hand and a swipe of mascara
some Insta pics from the shores of Bora Bora
to maintain their fit and fabulous aura
and somewhere bougie to swing the tiara

levelling up!
levelling up!
personal trainers and body scrubs
Gucci guys and polo queens
in OK! (I’m Calling Security!) magazine

all of which wouldn’t be so bad
if the general population hadn’t been had
by a moneyed elite with a long proboscis
sucking the life from the public pocket
levelling up – such an empty phrase
when the working class is the one that pays
but hey, I’m genuinely sorry to say
your moaning’s just graffiti on the arse-end of posterity
so zip it, old chap – and here’s to Austerity!

A Right Ol’ Blighty Brexit Playlist

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

Why be blue when you can be Red, White & Blue?
C’mon me ol’ Muckers! SingalongaBoris to all yer old favourites!

There’ll be fuel queues over
The shite cliffs of Dover

Pack up your business and your flame clad flat
And smile, smile, smile,

It’s a long wait to buy a turkey
It’s a long wait I know
It’s a long wait to buy a turkey
And the Christmases I know!
Goodbye Piccalilli
Farewell Leicester Cheese!
It’s a long long wait to buy a turkey
with bare shelves on show

Boiled Beef and Carrots
Boiled beef and carrots
That’s the stuff for your Priti Patel
Good for her mates in the Met as well

We’ll vote again, don’t know where, don’t know wheeeeeeeen

He’s a Boogie Woogie Tory Boy
of Company House

Keep the home debt burning

The Boris I love is up in the gallery,
The Boris I love is smirking now at me,
There he is, can’t you see, waving his pedigree
As merry as an idiot that sings on a tree

Download now!*
*(Electricimity permittin’)

Free cardboard crown with every purchase!*
*(delivery pending)

the truth about that alien

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

I finally finished my time machine
it really wasn’t that hard
I found some tetrafluoroethylene
and filled up in the yard

I kicked it into gear with my toe
roared off for the mid-Paleolithic
three hundred thousand years ago
if you wanna be specific

I was there before I knew it
parked the machine in front of a cave
a Neanderthal man came out to view it
He nodded his head; I waved.

Actually he looked a lot like me
short legs, tattoos, teeth
draped in a cloak that was hairy and scary
with nothing underneath

I stayed with the family a number of years
we hunted for buffalos and aurochs
they taught me how to make clubs and spears
I taught them basic hydraulics

We snacked on berries and mushrooms and roots
we got along just fine
they played me tunes on a bear claw flute
I played them Metallica & Rammstein

But Time is as cold as a glacier
they aged while I stayed young & fit
I had my bike to cheat nature
they just had to put up with it

In the end I knew it was over
I’d seen them through all kinds of scrapes
like that mammoth who trashed the enclosure
or that bear who clawed all the drapes

Or the months we were trapped in the cave
by a sabre toothed cat in the valley
but I trained him with scraps to do tricks and behave
and we called him Thomas O’Malley

They held a party when it was time to go
it was really quite a night
we danced around in the falling snow
and the flickering campfire light

They painted my picture with ochre
it was rough but complimentary
I brushed the snow from my motor
and roared back to the twenty first century

And now I’m reading a magazine
a dig that was strangely dramatic
Did Aliens Visit the Pleistocene?
(copyright National Geographic)

my new laugh

~ jim clayton ~ 2 Comments

I’m working on a mirthless laugh
for reading things in the Telegraph
or listening to Boris on radio stations
making speeches at the United Nations
something hammer horror-a-ree
the only proper response to his oratory

I’m practicing a bitter kinda chuckle
for hearing how the country buckles
beneath the weight of this crappy Brexit
a flat kinda snicker that somehow reflects it
(I think the weight of all this sovereignty
is really starting to do bad things to me)

I’m busy rehearsing a scary guffaw
for pieces about how they’re helping the poor
I’ll crease like Gary Oldman as Dracula
with a blood-crazed grin and some gothic vernacular
(or maybe I’ll go for the next best thing
a Tony Hopkins chortle as Professor Van Helsing)

status update XII

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

I’m Bear Grylls / running for the hills / with a bottle of vodka and a parka pocket full of pills

I’m the King of the castle struggling to explain / the dragon on the ventilator, the knight in flames

I’m James Bond / undercover in the pond / ducks on tux, holster full of fronds / eye to eye with a cute Russian newt / who draws a water pistol but cannot shoot

I’m Johnson Senior / Brexit dreamer / up to his chins in kleftiko and retsina / toasting home with a florid demeanour / passport, conscience & keys in the beemer

I’m a young hamster with his whole wheel ahead of him

I’m the deadbeat poet who fantasises / as the Tory party metastasizes

Render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar’s / I think you’ll find that’s the usual procedure

I’m Donald J Trump in an all night diner / speed-eating burgers in a riser-recliner / nothing could be finer / than to be in Carolina / with some hydroxychloroquine inside ya

I’m the microscopic big reveal / I’m a tardigrade on a catherine wheel

I’m a jellyfish raised in a jelly mould / whose comedy bulges are a joy to behold / but the Netflix series gets put on hold / when the hidden stingers are finally unrolled

I’m Batman sprawled on the batmobile / batpants buffed, batjackboot on the wheel / sexy batpout, naughty batwink / I’m Batman, baby – what’d’ya think?

I’m Timothée Chalamet’s terrifying scene / in a remake of 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea / when a giant squid faps with the submarine

I’m ET / increasingly uneasy / neck-stretchingly queasy / watching playback on the VT / gosh Stevie – is that really me? / I knew you wanted alien but … sheesh

I’m true crime scripts / I’m Bloods v Crips / I’m Professor Plum on the Ottoman with the Walnut Whips™

I’m a health & safety officer in a correctional facility / checking the electric chair connectivity / straps & utility / four leg stability / a gold star pass for profitability

I’m a legion of Lionels, a battlegroup of Dougs / I’m wandering the bootcamp desperate for hugs

I’m bored St Peter swinging on the gate / left for work early, came home late

I’m the Met police / off the record, off the leash / feet in boots and boots on beat / on heat / a dozen ziploc ties apiece / tried and trusted techniques / please ignore the random shrieks / we’ll be round for you in a couple of weeks

The Just Useless League

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

Let the people cheer and the villains tremble!
It’s time for the Just Useless League to assemble!
Borisman! Pritiwoman! Raaborg! The Sunak!
No sooner on holiday than flying back
to pull on their costumes and go on Sky
to tell us they’re putting the army on standby
and explain the current state of affairs
is anyone else’s fault but theirs
and throw headfirst through the nearest exit
any reporter who mentions Brexit

Brexilla!

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

Aargh! Another monster Tory Kaiju!
Hopelessly trashing the joint to spite you
Rampaging round a bad model of the country
Knocking over all and sundry
With their rubbishy rubber tails and claws
Cliche stamping, wretched roars
Swatting away the Remain-voting wankers
Chewing flaming petrol tankers
Taking a nuclear dump on the city
(And back for a sequel, more’s the pity)