poems

I’m gonna do whatever it takes to do whatever 

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

procrastination is my middle name
or would’ve been
if I’d made the appointment
sniff
some people are built for speed
me?
well… not built exactly
a bit more abstractly
brought together
y’know?
flotsam and jetsam on the ebb and flow
a concatenation of wind-blown scraps
twigs n’sticks and wrappers from snacks
a sad sack
figure of wax
someone sat
too close to the fire
and quickly expired
melting into a comedy blob
they keep as a talking point, back of the shop
that kinda thing
but I think I’m improving
I’m determined to get better
I’m gonna do that course (if I can find the letter)

one flew over the lurcher’s basket

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

occasionally
Stanley
would spectacularly
stretch out on his side on the floor
give his front left leg a gnaw
with a howl that was deafening
his back legs pedalling
all in all it was pretty unsettling
like the poor thing was wrestling
invisible wolves in life or death matches
these desperate episodes coming in batches
of twos maybe threes
so we took him to the vet’s, obviously
and she said unfortunately
I think your dog has epilepsy
(although to be sure she’d need more tests
which at his age would cause him undue stress
so maybe a palliative route was best)

the medication made him a zombie
a listless lurcher / throw pillow combi
till cutting the pills seemed kinder and easier
we’d see how we went with just analgesia

and suddenly he was cured!
a lot more settled and self-assured

Differential diagnosis?

it’s probably because he’s quite a diva
in acting terms a high-achiever
making the most out of low level pain
the kind you might get from a muscle strain

(still haven’t taken him back to the vet:
WAAAY too embarrassed to tell her yet)

existential dread at the toy museum

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

I scare myself at the toy museum
which feels more like a mausoleum
a carpeted, air-freshened, place of the dead
where they’ve chosen to bury toys instead
puppets, bears, acrobats,
sailor babies, freaks like that
every toy with a curling caption
fixed expressions of stupefaction
staring through the dusty glass
at the aimless ghosts who whisper pass
in and out through a low-lit door
opening hours ten till four

the worst of it is a railway track
that runs the length of a case and back
the tiny figure of an engineer
one arm waving as he steers
in oily overalls, jaunty cap
neckerchief in plastic flap
cotton wool smoke from the tiny funnel
as he drives his train through a length of tunnel
emerges, waits, goes in reverse
back down the track he just traversed
ending up at the starting place
then setting off at the same, slow pace

he looks so happy fixed like that
cows and sheep along the track
painted houses, painted trees
everything perfect, permanently
his memory gone as he goes in reverse
the doomed engineer forever cursed
to twenty seconds of active bliss
the best he’ll ever know of this
we hurry back to the light of the lobby
congratulate the owner on her wonderful hobby
(but strictly between me and you
I’m worried she’s an exhibit, too)

the ones that went before

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

our tour guide Oliver
pterosaur t-shirt flat-hat time traveller
big boss fossiller
brains like an ossuary
real-time repository
of natural science and palaeontology
uses the tip of his walker’s cane
to draw on the sand and casually explain
how this three-toed boulder
130 million years or older
was once a footprint squelched in mud
baked in the sun, backfilled in a flood
a plus-size, bus-size iguanodon
putting their foot down, carrying on
following the herd along ancient tracks
out to the breeding grounds and back

speedy boarding

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

we’re ready now for speedy boarding
the chosen few, the crowds applauding
falling back to let them through
the godlike ones who cannot queue
you’ll know them by their silver hats
their diamond rings and silk cravats
how wonderful to see them in
their chariots and palanquins

speedy boarding! speedy boarding!
wealth is great and so rewarding
should we stop awhile and bless
these tortured souls in such distress?
wave a press’d and perfum’d glove
above the stress’d who queue and shove?
to heal their woes? oh, please let’s do it!
(but the gate is free so let’s go through it)

the stories behind these tattoos

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

these two rings?
they represent everything
including my parents
who remind me of the need for forbearance
regular meals and antidepressants
no, sorry
it’s actually astronomy
two rings no stars for astral economy
a representation
of the tension
between the here and now
the yin and the kapow!
that’s what the tattooist said anyhow
and the tree?
okay yeah the tree is me
rooted to the spot but essentially free
if movement can move you statically
I suppose emphatically
an archetype?
or barketype – am I right!
a representation of the mystic circle of life
a bridge between heaven and earth and shite
roots rapping with the dead, boughs wow-wowing in the light
alright?
what – the ammonite?
the ammonite’s there to remind me at night
to check my lies are watertight
and also because of the siphuncles?
a genetic abnormality I share with my uncles
a tube that runs the length of our guts
and independently opens and shuts
and keeps us buoyant without any fuss
but that’s just us
a handy, family mutation
that regulates the depth in any conversation
not to mention
the disgusting habit
of when you sense food you reach out and grab it
also – eyes on the side, travelling backwards
waggling suckers at our detractors
basically a fossil with siphuncles and sutures
living in the past, lost to the future

holiday snaps

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

some time back in the early ADs
a Roman went storming the Persian areas
the Sasanians were finally brought to their knees
and the Roman’s name was Emperor Galerius
to celebrate his glorious victories
he ordered friezes of considerable heft
triumphal arches, a great rotunda
but now there’s not a whole lot left
hundreds of years have come and gone
soldiers, emperors, all ploughed under
a few cats dozing on a sun-browned lawn
or looking for shade amongst the rubble
and the only lasting sense of wonder
is why they went to all that trouble