poems

bad king wenceslas

~ jim clayton ~ 2 Comments

Bad King Wenceslas looked out
on the scene of sirens
blue lights flashing round about
the neighbourhood environs

Fiercely shone the chopper lights
bullhorn shouts were cruel
negotiator came in sight
struggling to stay cool

Hither page and stand by me
if thou know it telling
yonder agent who is he?
where and what his dwelling?

Sire he lives a good league hence
underneath a mountain
works for government defence
narco crime accountin’

Bring my vest and bring my piece
bring my bullets hither
thou and I will this guy grease
send his brothers hither

Page and monarch forth they went
forth they went together
till their weapons all were spent
and down they went together

Sire the night is darker now
and the wind blows stronger
fails my heart I know not how
I can go no longer

Hark my footsteps my good page
tread thou in them boldly
thou must find the righteous rage
to freeze thy blood less coldly

In his master’s steps he trod
past the cars so dented
the heat was in the very sod
and Wenceslas demented

Thus shall gangsta men be stopped
wealth or junk possessing
ye who now do waste the cops
shall all soon be resting

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the shard

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

I found the fragment
of an old plate
a shard of blue and white
washed out by the rain

I thought about
the meals it represented
a clicking of cutlery
like the ticking of a clock

now it lies like a mosaic clue
a spray of blue leaves
a pair of boots
a swollen river

we are made of elements
random accumulations
that form and break
according to the weather

we pattern out our time
it rains, or it doesn’t
someone carries a plate
nothing lasts forever

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star wars: the retirement

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

Yoda parks his Skoda
badly
sadly affected
by scoliosis
COPD with a poor prognosis
wheezes into his local
where he ends up getting vocal
with some stormtroopers on the pool table
waggling their cues a lot
so they miss their shot
till the owner gets called
and he’s hauled
back out on the street
(which happens most weeks)
he gets back in his Skoda
licence plate YODA
and a sign on the back of the car:
If Read This You Can Too Close You Are
and heads back to his cave
half watches Dave
whilst he knocks out a series of gnomic tweets
to Kylo Ren and the Imperial Fleet

Admiral Ackbar
runs a shitty little snackbar
somewhere out on Kessel
serving doughnuts and slime
to the guys from the mine
and random passing vessels
days when it’s slack
he loiters out back
playing cards with Fett and Finn
rolling his eyes
when the generator dies
and a Jedi wanders in

Princess Leia
works as a quantity surveyor
(she wanted something more regular)

Jabba the Hut
is a fitness nut
owns a number of successful franchises
aimed at customers of equivalent sizes

C-3PO and R2D2
disappeared after #metoo

Obi-Wan Kenobi
shaved head and goatee
works in security
standing all night on the door
‘this is not the club you’re looking for’

Darth Maul
doesn’t do much at all
just sits all day in his study
cantankerous and moody
watching reruns of Judge Judy

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end of the day blues

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

I’m slumped / dumped / spiritually gazumped / I’m rolling on the forecourt with the last gas pumped

I’m slack / cracked / wasted and whacked / I’m a shop soiled cosmonaut drifting off track

I’m snookered / bazooka’d / soulfully verruca’d / I’m a wonderland caterpillar totally hookah’d

I’m trolleyed / squalid / more liquid than solid / I’m a bottle of windolene chugged and volleyed

I’m stuffed / snuffed / artlessly roughed / I’m a dragon with a fag on fatally puffed

I’m steaming / keening / vacantly dreaming / I’m one part how’de do, two parts screaming

at least / if I’m honest / that’s how it’s seeming

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creative differences

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

Klugman as Quincy
scowling as he rinses
his hands
landing
a series of reprimands
on the actor
playing the hapless inspector
who shakes his head and looks at the director
who’s too stressed, bored
inexperienced & over-awed
so the actor’s concerns are ignored
and whilst they clear the studio floor
getting ready for the next shot
the actor wanders outside for a spot
and thinks about all the parts he hasn’t got
and whether he should quit or not
or give the whole thing one last shot
and stares up at the sky and smokes a lot

that’s me
one hundred percent absolutely

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bible curious

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

cut to a priest
sitting in a truth booth
wiggling in a wet patch
scritchin’ and a-scratchin’
at a blessed box of matches
ready to inflame
the same damned candle
the fat and waxy handle
on his spiritual fruit machine
four Hail Marys and a pay out
eternal bliss and a way out
a kiss on the hand
may be quite continental
but the pope’s not sentimental
not like that
surprisingly hard despite the hat
his cardinal sin?
finding the time to fit it all in

but what’s with the god awful shout?
abruptly heeling & wheeling about
clean heels on hard stones
rich robes running
the congregation concentrating
being, becoming
drumming
humming along with the mains

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Solly

~ jim clayton ~ 2 Comments

Solly was a supercat
with a mask & gloves & pointy beard and all that
getting into the usual scrapes
that supercats in capes
the world over do
like hiding in bamboo
and unexpectedly leaping out at you
like sitting at the tailiest top of the tallest wall
and calmly looking down on us all
like going out in the rain
and coming straight back in again
or snoozing under the rhubarb
in the overgrown backyard
watching the finches giving it some
round & round the feeder in the shady viburnum
Solly was a chancer, a pawsy, floorsy advancer,
a sofa surfer and tall grass prancer
a sunlight finder, dinner reminder
an expert in the art of the happy head-nuzzle
the underbelly scruzzle
the mid-eared scraggle
the reverse flick & lazy lick
the no-way-are-you-getting-me-in-that-carrier trick
the fully hypnotised pet
curled up as small as a medium-sized cat can get
cradled in our daughter’s arms
as she softly sings her charm
rocking gently from side to side
locking eyes
young woman, young cat
and how happy he is and we are for that
how he reaches up slowly to touch her on the chin
with the claws of his paws all carefully drawn in

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antmare

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

the ants are busy cleaning up / the sugar round the coffee cup / the bin bags back of the catering truck / the frosting lost from the tossed / wedding cake / of the fraught call taker / the overworked undertaker / the butcher, the baker, the fake news operator / the supermarket clown with his pants falling down / throwing plastic flowers around / while the lines / of shocked shoppers / the pantomime dames and party pill poppers / the princes, paupers & live-feed gawpers / talk about the healing power of music / steroids, benzos & antibiotics / antipsychotics / while Donalds Duck & Trump / hiding in plain view top of the dump / struggle with their waterproof pumps / red, white and blue sou’westers / finally acknowledging a change in the weather / and Doctor Doonothing / shakes his head as he pulls out your stuffing / huffing & puffing / muttering some bullshit voodoo / invoking a push me pull you, fuck me, fool you / who knew? / but the effect is immediate / and hey – you paid for it / so put that in your feed and smoke it / along with that other meme / the one about the Garden of Eden / where a giant snake / more give than take / so fat the branch’ll surely break / slowly unfurls / swinging low to lick Eve’s curls / waggling comedy eyebrows / at the luscious apple hanging solo / so low / but no worries – Eve knows / always has, I suppose / she eats the snake, tosses the apple, wipes her hands & goes / cutting to a vista / of all the other shit we missed / the fossilised fish in the shale and schist / impressions of all the creatures we lost / their curly horns poking through the permafrost / the sad rise and wreck of it all / so bad even Attenborough’s blocking your calls / he knows you can’t be trusted / he knows when the floes are finally busted / and the dead rise up to be costed / you’ll be parked two abreast / on what’s left / of the inundated / demarcated / cemetery hard-standing / with as much understanding / of what just happened / as that flattened / and battered / halloween pumpkin / gaping, waiting for something / anything / an end to the rain / an end to the pain / a storm of fireworks to light the sky again

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the rules according to raab

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

No-one gives a toss
about social media
the whole truth-telling procedure
it’s totally overrated, mate
outdated
just throw shit out there, see what sticks
everyone uses dirty tricks

I don’t give two fucks
about the facts
so you may as well relax
it’s the new norm
conform
it’s not the taking part that counts
it’s the dollars in your bank accounts

Who gives a shit
if it’s real or not
if you lie a little or a lot
it’s an election
misdirection
when the truth comes out we’ll be long gone
safe in our clubs in London

I don’t give a damn
if you think I’m bent
the truth circumvent
fake news rules
fools
I’m a gilt-edged winner, not a quitter
I’ll say what the fuck I like on Twitter

Who the hell cares
if the public’s deceived
feels misled and aggrieved
facts are pliable
it’s undeniable
so shut the hell up, it’s hardly a disaster
save your screams for the morning after

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a new entry to the fossil record

~ jim clayton ~ 2 Comments

There’ll be bluebirds over / the white cliffs of Dover

Yeah? Not after climate change’s arranged the final handover / more like blue whales & sea snails / unpleasant, bioluminescent, lumpy, grumpy-looking things with teeth & sails / who knows? maybe giant ammonites’ll come back / following the ancient, re-emerging ocean tracks / good – I’ll be glad it’s over / it’s about time the Class of Cephalopoda / got a shot at the top / humans? schmumans / they deserved what they got

The thing is – the planet never did really care / if humans were environmentally aware / or not / the planet can take it cold or hot / shrug and say hey ho / mofos / suck on one of my mega tornadoes / or a pipe the size of a supervolcano

The planet’s got aeons of recovery time / to clean up the scene of our heinous crime / I mean – take those bluebird infested cliffs / so much a part of your stiff upper lips / they’re actually made from coccoliths / (bear with me on this) / trillions upon trillions of tiny shells / that very gently fell / from the type of algae that did pretty well / in the deep blue waters of the Cretaceous / so slow it was outrageous / I mean – it really took ages / they just rained down on the sea floor / more and more and more / accumulating as an oozy mud / that got consolidated pretty good / the layers finally starting to appear / at the alarming rate of a millimetre a year / until the big bust-up / when they got thrust up / into those big ol’ walls of chalk / where you like to take a Sunday walk / moaning about the price of fuel / and where your kids’ll go to school / and whether you can afford a pool / or not / and two or three holidays somewhere hot / while the planet sighs and shakes her head / wiggles her feet deep in the ocean bed / dreams of being done with the cliffs of Dover / more than ready to wipe and start over

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