poems

La Calavera Catrina Ambientalista

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

Hey girl – love the hat / all the feathers & flowers & shit n’that / it’s totally where the fashion’s at / workin’ it like some boney-arsed aristocrat / you’re so kooky / sexy spooky / I mean – who needs Gucci? / what? / what’s that you’re saying? / quit the cemetery sashaying / all the cosplay, doomsday Dia de Muertos role-playing / sit down awhile and talk to me / your opinion’s important to me / it’s good to hear what’s going down / on the underground / every once in a while / even though I find your smile / quite unnerving / disconcerting / I can see you’re hurting / so c’mon – let’s just chat / tell me what’s going on under that hat.

Whoa! Why d’you point that phalange at me? / I mean – sure – I’m implicated / I do my best but it’s complicated / you don’t have to tell me the game’s up / our time’s up / dark thunder clouds forming / ice caps melting & brush fires storming / the planet failing & animals falling / the planet screaming & calling / it’s a total bust / a failure of trust / we had one job and we blew it / the politicians & CEOs were lying the whole time & we knew it / we’ve got to quit stalling / this shit’s appalling / it’s messy & distressing / but you know all about that, I’m guessing / so why d’you keep smiling at me like that? / after all the nice things I said about your hat

Anyway – what’s with all the negatives? / I thought Day of the Dead was about honouring your relatives? / gothic processions along the strand / candy skulls and a mariachi band / I didn’t expect a sardonic lecture / on the benefits of energy-efficient architecture / carbon footprints, shit like that / hell – it could just as well be me in that hat / I’ve got an iPhone / I know what’s going on / the corporate denials & pseudo-trials / the hokey visions / deceitful decisions / military revisions / media-managed missionary positions / sweaty handshakes in hot tubs / mutual back-rubs in industrial meat clubs / It’s over! A wrap! / I’m totally up to speed with all that crap / the documentary shows about the action to take / don’t go away we’ll be back after the break

Oh Catrina! You’re such a tease / with your painted arches & sockets like twin TVs / flickering & glowing restlessly / d’you mind if I look closer at what they’re showing? / a story of greed, a lesson in bad luck / a bundle of plastic sacks back of a burning catering truck / a skeleton cat in a floppy hat / picking over the trash / while tumbleweeds of dirty cash / roll through empty halls / and dilapidated shopping malls … / Is that it? Yeah? / Well – Meh / You can catch that shit anytime / on Netflix and Amazon Prime / so just chill, duchess / this day after tomorrow schtick is much of a muchness / fact is? / nature finds humans too confining / so the stars are coming out and re-aligning / what can I say? / end of the day / you do your best & the rest is silence / (give or take some collateral violence) / shit happens, Catrina – enjoy the ride / let’s promenade together as our worlds collide

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etching by  José Guadalupe Posada c.1910

Apparition Generation – FAQs

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

Apparition Generation is a clean, renewable source of energy that leaves no footprints of any kind. It is the only method of power generation to be endorsed by The Department of Energy, The Society for Psychical Research and The Vatican.

The four main elements of Apparition Generation are: Spiritual Conductibility, Ethereal Resistance, Ectoflux Matrix and Joltage.

Moans Law states that the current through a conductor between a negative past event and a positive identification is directly proportional to the joltage across the crucifix and candlestick.

A mature ghost may furnish as much as 50 jolts per watch. Ruffs increase resistance, concentrate glow and improve yield; howling in resonant cavities has the opposite effect.

An Ectoflux Matrix is deemed to exist whenever one or more apparitions are held in a supersaturated co-violent death bond. They are Omni-directional, Multi-denominational, and Essentially Restless.

When harvesting Apparitions you must determine: a) drift rate b) creak quotient c) particle sparkle.

For a steady flow of kiloGhouls through any given surface, the plasmic current I (in vamperes) can be calculated with the following equation:

I = uQ / t

where uQ is Unearthly Quiet over what-seems-like-a-lifetime, t.

Equipment required:

  • 1 x Extractomatic MkIII Sheetform Apparition Generation Innovation ™
  • A selection of articles to facilitate Spectral Engagement.
    For example: a grimacing, wind-up monkey that clashes symbols; a musical box; a wormy old mirror; a tailor’s dummy; a disarticulated china doll; a rocking chair; a stuffed weasel in a straw boater smoking a pipe; a prayer book spotted with black wax; a bundle of dusty letters tied with a ribbon, and an album of foxed & faded photographs (ONE of which MUST be EITHER a) a pale boy in a sailor’s suit with a heavy fringe and staring eyes b) a sleeping baby in a pram attended by a governess dressed in crow feathers, OR c) a North Norfolk beach).
    For best results, use all of the above.
  • Some cable.

NOTE: Battlements interfere with the waveforms and should be avoided.

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creation myth

~ jim clayton ~ 4 Comments

There’s a baby awake in its crib tonight / lit by the glow of an orange moonlight / as it screams and it squalls / falls / and then rapidly crawls / to bust through the baby gate and hurry outdoors / where it wails and it cries / and doubles and triples, quadruples in size / till it comes in at just under half the weight / of America’s annual shipping freight / and sits on the docks / to throw buses and rocks / at the TV crews and armoured cops / who demand support from the air force and navy / and a SWAT team of specialists who know about babies

There’s a baby abroad in the world today / who demands that everything goes its way / and punishes countries who refuse to play / while it stuffs vast quantities of shares and stocks / in its monstrous diaper and knitted socks / and drinks the seas dry and sleeps on the rocks / while the wild wind whistles / and the bushfires bristle / and it wakes to catch a volley of missiles / that it stuffs in its mouth / and chews and chews and chews about / and then lifts a leg and shits the bits out

There’s a baby abroad in the world – it’s true / and it doesn’t like me, and it doesn’t like you / as it keeps whole populations awake / with the horrible mewling and moaning it makes / chasing the multiple frauds and fakes / it blames for the terrible mess in its wake / then finally in one great fit of pique / to prove its power is wonderfully unique / it rips up the Trump Tower in Manhattan / twirls it round its head like a baton / suddenly thrusts it deep in the ground / then flips the entire world upside down / (Nostredamus predicted this very battle / when the Earth gets used as a giant rattle)

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a midsummer night’s dividend

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

OBERON
I know a bank where the financial times blows
where payslips and the nodding auditor grows
where sleeping partners rest their bones
on krugerrands and burner phones
quite over-canopied with luscious receipts
hedged investments, tight spreadsheets
and crowded with the world’s elite
Good Puck – keep them safe & apprais’d of the prize
by gently anointing their bulging eyes
with juice from this flower called ‘old-school-tie’
and lead them to my legal chambers by and by

PUCK
I’ll do it! I’ll do it!
I’ll get right to it
I’ll put a girdle round about the earth in forty minutes
and I guarantee not a single witness

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me & the 4th horse

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

I only finished this late last night
says DEATH, stepping up to the mic
it’s a bit rough round the edges. I hope it’s alright
he stands on the stage in his heavy black cloak
a fidgety, rickety kinda bloke
blinking deep in his sockets
fumbling around in his pockets
hold this, he says, handing his scythe
to the MC standing off to the side
who immediately takes a jokey swipe
at the heckler down front who’d been difficult all night
inadvertently and catastrophically
pitching him headfirst into purgatory
(which got the biggest laugh all night, incidentally)
don’t says DEATH, you’ll get me fired
you’re only supposed to do it when the punters have expired
hold still while I sort out my shit
I’ll be with you in a little bit

there’s an awkward silence

not because of the violence
but because we’ve had quite enough
of poets who don’t know their stuff
and say they’ve only just written the thing
because really what they’re saying
– the subtle psychological game they’re playing –
is… if you DON’T like it – well – I wrote it on the fly
but if you DO – think how much better it’ll be when I TRY

anyway – back to DEATH
who’s found his notes and taking a breath
casting his doomy countenance
around the audience
with a wide, dry and lipless grin
forty percent dentures, sixty percent chin

oh-kaaaaaay he says, awkwardly waving his notes
hope you like it (phalangeal air quotes)

but I have to admit I kinda zone out
when I get the gist of what it’s about
(a lot of hokey sturm und drang
the meaning of life….yaddah yaddah…. klang)
and I start to worry about his ride
the bloodless nag with the blazing eyes
tied up to a lamppost outside
that’s no place for a horse of the apocalypse
– so I sneak out and buy it some fish and chips
and yeah – I know – I shoulda got hay
but it was late and I just didn’t fancy it – OK?

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nobody whistles in cars these days

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

nobody whistles in cars these days
marking their spots in the parking bays
ending their stops, starting their stays
nobody whistles in cars these days

everyone’s hurrying to shuck the corn
and scatter the leaves on the garden lawn
and kiss the crib where the kid was born
everyone’s hurrying to shuck the corn

you say everything comes to those that wait
the sistine chapel, the garden gate
the jack-in-the-box, the slave-in-the-crate
everything comes to those that wait

I hear somebody’s selling a hand-me-down
a torch for the sun, a bone for the ground
a saddle of meat and a bridal gown
somebody’s selling a hand-me-down

anything different is just the same
we spend the rent and spare the blame
and learn the rules and cheat the game
anything different is just the same

nobody whistles in cars these days
marking their spots in the parking bays
ending their stops, starting their stays
nobody whistles in cars these days

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Death comes to call (via mail merge)

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

Dear {first name} {last name}

Please excuse this communication
but we’re going through a rationalisation
and as you may have seen in social media
we’re modernising the whole procedure

Where formally you’d expect San La Muerte in a cloak
or a Banshee keening in a swirl of smoke
or Thanatos carrying your shade to a boat
– I’m sorry, but these were early adoptions
and currently no longer available as options

Not to mention Ankou in his corpse laden cart
collecting you when you were ready to depart
with his long white hair and cold, black heart
– well, we’ve withdrawn this model from circulation
(subject to the usual confirmation)

There was Azrail, beautiful or monstrous depending
on the quality of life the client was ending
Giltinė in her black cloak, Śmierć in white
Jogging round the boneyard in the middle of the night.
– picturesque but hardly cost-efficient choices
rarely leading to timely invoices

We had Pesta with her broom, Maaijeman with his rake
Yama on a buffalo with a lasso like a snake
Charon on the Styx for a couple of danake
– all very well but a bit out of date
Now we have fibre optic cables
clean data sets in Excel tables

So if you’d kindly fill in the attached receipt
and I’ll be back to upload you early next week

Yours facelessly,

D.

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now, honey – you KNOW it’s not my time

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

I’m an easy going bloke
but when Death slips off his cloak
dumps his scythe
outside
with a clatter
is all like ‘Death’s here and nothing else matters’
hard-heels it into my hotel room
and then ‘Boom!’
throws his bony arse down on the bed, uninvited
starts bouncing around like he’s utterly fucking delighted
honestly? I’m not the least bit excited
‘Honey?’ I tell him ‘Enough of this shit.
Stop it. Just quit.
Grab your stuff and git.
So you’re the Scourge? The Reaper? The Flail?
Well, good for you, girlfriend. Cheque’s in the mail.
I’m sorry for any disappointment
but next time – okay? – make a motherfucking appointment

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swallowing the hook

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

I like to ride with him out to the river
the fisher king, the life and death giver
with his flies and his floats and his stale white bread
his fish blood hands and his fish blood head

I like to lie in the grass half asleep
and watch his fishing line flick and leap
as the wide river slides and the fat sun thins
and the maggots keen softly in their little round tin

now I’m old like you and I live by the sea
and the same fish swim out to look for me
It’s true, I tell them, I’m the son of the king
I’ve swallowed the hook, now reel me in

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fred? dead?

~ jim clayton ~ 2 Comments

that’s Fred, smiling in his judo gi
throwing me with a casual flick of his knee
so easily and brutally
that all my bones sequentially crack
as I come down hard with a graceless smack
impressing my body in the dojo mat
and lie there floundering flat on my back
when he kneels and gently holds my hand
till I feel well enough to stand
and carry on with the lesson as planned

that’s Fred, belting out Ring of Fire
driving his truck as the flames went higher
down the long straight roads of Cambridgeshire
butcher to butcher with cargoes of meat
slapping the wheel as he keeps the beat
through fields of maize and plains of wheat
and rows of sprouts and sugar beet
with his bloody cap and rubber boots
salmon sandwiches and juicy fruits
till he’s out to the pub in his fat black suit

that’s Fred, riding around in a Bentley
reading stocks and shares intently
chasing a million evidently
buying old houses in the poorer quarters
doing them up with sweat and mortar
renting them out to the factory workers
giving short shrift to the news reporters
and the next thing you know
he’s setting up shop on the ring road
diversifying his portfolio

that’s Fred, lying in a silk-lined casket
ten days after his heart blew a gasket
his tax returns shredded in a waste paper basket
and I can’t believe he’s really dead
a force of nature the preacher said
strong in body, stronger in head
improvising A to Z
and I think of him standing out on the mat
grabbing my collar and throwing me flat
then bowing and vanishing – and that was that

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