poems

5 fascinating things about the universe, maybe 6

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

ONE
The universe is 13.7 billion years old
give or take a few hundred million I’m told
what came before it I haven’t a clue
just nothing looking for something to do

TWO
Light travels at 186,000 miles per second
and is NOT instantaneous, it’s generally reckoned
(first by some Enlightenment guy called Romer
whose equations could put you into a coma)

THREE
So really there’s not the slightest use
in booking a break to Betelgeuse
because even if you started young and fit
you’d be 480 and feeling it

FOUR
And that’s just one star in the vast array
twinkling on the arm of the Milky Way
one of four hundred billion or so
spinning through space with nowhere to go

FIVE
If the universe was like a big, fruit platter
the plate itself would be made of dark matter
and quite what THAT is I’m really not sure
but it keeps the bananas off the floor

SIX
So – is there intelligent life out there?
(‘cos there’s not a whole lot here, to be fair)
Given the distance I can’t blame them much
for taking so long to get in touch

the genesis of stanley

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

When God created Dog
He made Him in likeness of himself
being a scruffy, gruff
but lovable kinda lurcher
with a head for heights
and He named this dog Rufus

When Rufus had lived 200 years
he begat Toffee.
After Toffee was begatted
Rufus lived 800 more years
which was pretty good going
for a long-legged dog.
But then he died.

When Toffee had lived 4000 years
he begat a puppy
he did call Leon (also sometimes Sweet Nuts)
which was a minor miracle
because Toffee hadn’t thought much
about begatting since he was about 2000.
But then he died.

And when Sweet Nuts nee Leon had lived 95 years
he begat a puppy
he calleth George Michael
but not George Michael the singer
George Michael from Arrested Development
anyway
the begatting was the main thing
and it all went off nicely enough

When George Michael was 223
he begat a puppy called Fig
Fig lived a ludicrously long time
begatting as he went
the last begattee being
Rascal, short for Raskalnikov
because he always looketh
distracted and kinda shifty

Rascal lived – I don’t know,
name your figure –
until he didst begat
a puppy called Stanley
and Rascal said
this puppy shall be a boon to us
(whatever a boon is)
and though he shalt eat us out of hut and home
it shalt be totally worth it

and that was that
the end of the begat
(sadly undisputed;
Stanley came neutered)

like clockwork

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

you always know when it’s eight o’clock
because Stanley paces around a lot
testing your patience to the max
roaming the kitchen playing his sax
blowing with such a jazzy wheeze
howls n’trills in minor keys
toots n’squeals
whatever he feels
till you cry to heaven and serve his meals

you always know when it’s six o’clock
because Stanley stares like a dog in shock
hoping you’ll find his vacant expression
a picture of such deep depression
you’ll want to drag him from the brink
and send him to a canine shrink
for a course of therapy
(or the cheaper remedy:
an early serving of his favourite recipe)

the icarus factor

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

there’s something just a little bit ick
about the way young Icarus licks
each shiny eagle feather he picks
out of the basket and lovingly sticks
to the ludicrous wings his father’s fixed

Daedalus
needless
to say
refuses to look the other way

listen, oh son
don’t be so dumb
maybe someday you could be someone
the job’s nearly done
our glass almost run
and remember – don’t fly close to the sun

but Icarus was a sucker for showy dramatics
and despite all the drawings and mathematics
can’t resist some aerobatics

he pushes his luck way up to the max
and tragically soon the Med impacts
pride, unfortunately, one of those facts
like using glue instead of wax

checking out

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

The sales assistant had a cat
that died last month of a heart attack
nine years old but a pedigree
a heart condition apparently
I won’t be getting another she said
It’s too damned hard when they drop down dead

I paid for the jeans and sympathised
we’d had one or two pets who died
Kasha came free with a second hand chair
the chair long gone but the cat still there
It’s the price you pay for loving someone
one minute here the next minute gone

I suppose it teaches my kids about death
my parents aren’t in the best of health;
Do you want to sign up for our newsletter, love?
it qualifies you for ten percent off?
I typed my email onto the screen;
she opened a bag and put in my jeans

I had to take a day off work
to even remotely get over the hurt
I felt so desperate, utterly stressed
my eyes all bloodshot my skin a mess
I wore dark glasses, my hair in plaits
I said don’t none of you mention cats.

What the Dickens?!

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

Those major works summarised:

The Johnson Papers
A bumbling fool with tousled hair
trashes the place without a care
feckless, boastful, never delivers
struggles by on endless dinners

Barnaby Sludge
A riotous work of political fiction
pollution rife without restriction
waterways fouled for an easy buck
if you want to swim in the sea, good luck

Great Lamentations
An epic tale of wishful thinking
rule britannia slowly sinking
a crazy bride in a mouldering mansion
dreaming of Empire, global expansion

Bleak House
Thirteen years of Tory misrule
bankrupting all the hospitals and schools
public discourse a noxious barrage
of Churchill knock-offs and Nigel Farrage

Cameron Twist
A cheeky orphan goes on the run
after throwing a referendum to have some fun
fails the public, fails himself
Sykes, his dog and the National Health

Little Brexit
A melodrama in nineteen parts
staggers along in fits and starts
just when you think there’s nowt more to flog
up pops Sunak, Jacob Rees-Mogg

A Tale of One Party
It was the best of times, it turned to shit
The Tory party made sure of it
The vote got through on a narrow margin
but OF COURSE there was no sense of compromise or balance in the subsequent negotiations, was there – I mean – why WOULDN’T you antagonise your nearest and biggest trading partners? Hmm?

the truth is out there

~ jim clayton ~ 1 Comment

Paul is watching ‘Ancient Aliens’
how they like to play with homo sapiens
sucking them off to probe on ships
funnelling green food, putting up drips
wrapping in cling film, gooing all over
dumping them years gone back on the sofa

‘Interesting’ he says to me
pointing a yellow finger at the TV
‘It makes you think, it goes to show
there’s more things in heaven and earth, Horatio..’
then tells me what’s been happening
morphine sulphate, heroin

There’s a tsunami of crap throughout the flat
bottles n’bin bags, stuff like that
his crack friend Trevor carelessly thrown
on top of it all like a junkie gnome
and in the only clear space going
a Flymo for occasional indoor mowing

‘The evidence is clear’ says the guy in the show
‘Thousands of cases of abduction, ya know?
Why would there be such correlation
from abductees across the nation
if what they were saying was all made up?
It’s time for governments to finally wake up!’

Paul just grunts and rolls a fag
from the greasy strands in his smoko bag
half on his lap, half in his beard
(Trevor seems to have gone, which is weird)
‘I tend to think this is shit, on the whole
I’d turn it over but we lost the control’

a truly heroic shop

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

(In which Jason stops off at Sainsbury’s to get a few things on his way home)

I suffer’d many trials
sailing through miles
of meat and dairy chiller isles
the clashing rocks
of cheap baked beans and trainer socks
ginger snaps and wonder mops
towering cliffs of country soups
spartan crackers, spaghetti hoops
What use have I for these
Oh Zeus?
I am not so useless as Ulysses
I am Jason
whacked off my nut on travel medication
fleeced, half-asleep
dreaming on the Argo
while my precious cargo
of ripe n’ready avocados
chestnut mushrooms & plum tomatoes
mouthwash, bin bags
Lemnos lemons in cute string bags
boozes for boozing
on Thy debit card cruising
almost losing
the entire wire ship
at the harpy cries of special offer dips
pretzels, breadsticks, half-fat crisps
till the tiller from my fingers slips
and I find myself aground
helplessly looking round
in the self-serve environs
of the screen-bright sirens
who bleep and scan and sing to me
supermarket seductively
till I swipe my card to cover the amount
and wait five days for the vouchers to print out

is that fur enough

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

it was wet
absolutely the wettest yet
if there’s been a wetter day
I have to say
I forget
but after a lot of toing and froing
about whether or not we’d be going
walking, or maybe rowing
because the streets were overflowing
with water
and maybe we oughta
be staying indoors
with our hands and our paws
draped over the couch
waiting till the sun came out
the sensible choice without a doubt

hell no
we decided to go
and obviously
when I say ‘we’
I mean ‘me’

because Stanley
was nonplussed
looking at me with level disgust
as I optimistically thrust
the lead in his direction
(dropping ten points in his general affection)

so…WAS it wet?
buoy – you bet

in Italiano
era bagnato
in French you might say
c’était mouillé
either way
the result’s the same:
a pet gets wet and I’m to blame

however
despite the weather
the biblical cataracts
kids were out playing a football match
wildly splashing down then up
happy as crabs in the Crustacean Cup
Stanley grimaced
as dog was his witness
the dumbest thing
he’d ever witnessed

he was equally aghast
when we passed
a woman and her dachshund
in matching macs und
boots
kitted out for tough pursuits
survivalists out on an expedition
all the gear for any condition

Stanley
stared at me
with a look
he took
from the mean look book
(Stanley should know; he’s a connoisseur)
it meant: ‘And you drag me out in just my fur’