poems

status update XXXIV

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

I’m headphones of fury on ears of despair / I’m realistic hands and fake blue hair / I’m a legendary nuisance in a club of such / I’m Long John Silver without the crutch / I’m a chimp in sliders, a croc in crocs / I’m a draggy vampire mint in the box / I’m dress down fridays at the naturist spa / Kurt Cobain writing Come As You Are / I’m a sellotape magnate stuck in his Porsche / a plate of potatoes, a bowl of old borscht / I’m Skeletor raving in a second hand suit / I’m Burger King merging with King Canut / I’m a gramophone playing in the ballroom of the Titanic / two miles down in the north atlantic

I’m a jolt in a juicebox, a robot on stilts / I’m Otzi the iceman tucked up in quilts / I’m an IOU in a champagne bottle tossed in the ocean / I’m the Fool in Lear, I’m Olaf in Frozen / I’m a robot in a junkyard, a crank on stilts / I’m trading my name for a Gucci bag of gilts / I’m lost on my way to the loser convention / I’m taking my brain to another dimension / I’m Wu Tang Clan in a sellout at Denny’s / I’m Dirty Ol’ Bastard rapping for pennies / Hi – I’m Rick / back-up Horseman of the Apocalypse / wasting his time on TikTok clips / as asteroids rain and mountains slip / and cyclones blow and The Rapture rips / and the sun tumbles into eternal eclipse / and I look up startled – wait – what did I miss?

I’m a debutante with a gin and twist / I’m Fermat’s Theorem on a shopping list / I’m a shark with toothache, a mozzie with cramps / I’m psycho killer with a book of stamps / a horrified horologist whose time elapsed / a Bake Off baker whose mousse collapsed / I’m a fly on the window, a dog in the bank / a sneeze in a hospital, a fart in a tank / I’m Rish Sunak in a full on funk / I’m a cat on steroids, a dog on junk / I’m Frosty the Sneerman, Asterix the Glob / I’m Sam I Am versus Sideshow Bob / I’m a Chat Test Dummy on a wipe clean sofa / surfing tsunamis of coca-cola / I’m flippers in a dive shop flooded by rain / and I’m clicking my heels three times to get home again

time slips

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

so mum dies and the house gets sold
and everything progresses smoothly I’m told
as smoothly as she left this planet
at night, in her sleep, with her dog, like she planned it

apparently the contracts exchange today
and quite what that means I couldn’t say
some kind of ceremony? probably not
a sharpened quill and a crystal skull inkpot
no, just some dry formality
the relentless, legal reality
of the passing of another family home
to somebody else who arranged a loan
with plans to totally gut the place
from mouldy bathroom to garden gate
a smart renovation in the general theme of
the ideal life you might well dream of

now – I’m not someone who believes in ghosts
the place would be crowded with a hapless host
of spirits from the ice age on
who couldn’t accept their time was done
and the world didn’t end with them when they croaked
and their legacy wasn’t as big as they’d hoped
unfinished business? sure. whatever.
living proof nothing lasts forever
okay not LIVING – but you get my point
you’re just another thing littering the joint
you should shrug and learn it’s time to move on
like Dad’s shed: here one day, the next day gone
or that bed where as a kid I was perfectly skilled
at getting under cover before the cistern filled;
or that stone where I buried a Strepsil tin
with coins and a stamp and a message in
(my time capsule tin was a total flop;
I robbed it for sweets at the corner shop);
or the door where grandma appeared one night
in her nightie in winter her hair pure white
two sorts of Denis in her bungalow
and then give or take a month or so
something even more egregious
dumped in a caravan in Bognor Regis

because every house is a delicate mesh
a bricks and plaster palimpsest
where all the atoms are overlaid
with the dreams of every person who stayed
and made the best of it, and pinned their hopes
and other, cliche domestic tropes

in a further metaphoric escalation
I read about a nearby excavation
where archaeologists uncovered a series of boats
carved from eight enormous oaks
expertly felled with Bronze Age tools
to fish the creeks and tidal pools
of the Fens where Mum and Dad bought this house
three thousand years ago or thereabouts

an undercover clown in circus town

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

there’s an undercover clown in circus town
the ringmaster snarls, they gather round
the high wire hustlers
the chainsaw jugglers
the pony riders, the white dove smugglers

an undercover clown in circus town
they’ve heard the rumours flying round
bar to bar like acrobats
giving everyone heart attacks
the girl with the knives, the guy with the axe

an undercover clown in circus town
ready to tear the big top down
but wait for the signal, everything’s ready
he’ll run in the ring looking crazy and sweaty
and THAT’S when we’ll spill his goddamn confetti

status update XXXIII

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

I’m a bat in a graveyard, a rat in spats / I’m tense and nervous and I can’t relax / I’m Suella Braverman in the Conservatory with The Axe / flak jacket and rucksack / boat quotes and kickbacks / and more and more I’m drifting off track / lost in despair & alternative facts / feeling the rope go dangerously slack

I’m driven to distraction, riven by cramps / I’m Rishi Sunak and the Practice Amps / I’m Charlie Three with a book of stamps / I’m the lamps going out all over Europe / interest rates soaring up / survivalists storing up / society needs shoring up / but wait a minute – stop / it’s okay / I’m sure America will lead the way / Democrats kicking Republican butt / as Trump goes feral and limbers up / for one last run at the White House Cup

I’m a butcher bashing through bone and gristle / with a teary eye and a cheery whistle / sausage rolls and nuclear missiles / saying okay I think this’ll do / now is there anything else I can get for you? / something warm to roast the rowdies? / planes and drones for our friends the saudis? / I like to keep my customers happy / (show me complaints, I show you the alley)

I’m Elon Musk and the Dead Sea Trolls / I’m democracy with parental controls / The Rapture with sliders and parasols / a TikTok Putin with barbie dolls / that’s so droll / now shut your mouth and pass your bowl / sprechen sie deutsch? hablas español?

I’m a puppet on prozac, a PM on sticks / I’m a glue for crosses called Crucifix / I’m a total numpty, a clown, an eclipse / I’m David Blane on a train without tricks

I’m a paparazzi mosquito / I’m Nicholas Cage in leopard print speedos / reel after reel of egos in tuxedos / who knows / it’s how it goes / everyone looking for a prince, I suppose / increasingly desperate to find n’kiss / any frog who’d be happy with this

I’m a gimp in a hard hat, a puss in boots / I’m the Met police with a bunch of recruits / who know when to taser, when to salute / who to wave through, who to shoot / who to chat to, who to mute
photo sharing
grievance airing
joke comparing
long hard staring
sizing you up for ankle tag wearing

I’m all the glory, none of the pain
I’m available for after dinner speeches again

another wet one

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

poor stanley
reluctant to go out, understandably
staring at me behaving randomly
dressed like a gore tex survivalist’s fantasy
waving a snorkel, grimacing manfully

(just to explain:
it’s absolutely pouring with rain
at levels Niagara couldn’t sustain
the street a uniquely aquatic domain
Noah on the blower shouting God – not AGAIN!)

so of course – we get wet
wetter than wet
absolutely the wettest yet
if anyone’s been wetter I haven’t met ‘em
and if they say they’ve been wetter well go ahead let ‘em
I’ll tip my dripping hat and forget ‘em

Stanley soaks it up like the finest of sponges
loses a gallon whenever he lunges

I say hello to the people we pass
a floundering flounder, sniffing the seagrass
a dogfish, pollack, mackerel and huss
waiting in line for a number nine bus
which pulls up, driven by an octopus

it’s a very, VERY short walk of course
the shortest walk ever by all reports
we strip in the kitchen down to our shorts
and as I towel him off I can read his thoughts:
What d’ya think I am, a goddamn seahorse?

urinals are forever

~ jim clayton ~ 2 Comments

James Bond in a care home / catheter emptied, hair combed / ready to roll but the mission’s postponed / indefinitely / hello there Jimmy! / how d’ya like your tea, my lovely? / no – don’t tell me / shaken not stirred, sweetie / what d’ya mean, too milky? / oh please! / someone’s a double O tease / c’mon and gimme ol’ Moneypenny a squeeze

Stares at the film but the theme song’s wrong / volcano blown and Blofeld gone / white cat flat, monocle bent / cold grey lava clogging the vent / and poor old Goldfinger / fortune gone, health through the wringer / hauled out of bed in a blingy slinger / pistol mimes with his index finger

heard about Le Chiffre? / threw in his hand and lost his teefre / gives the carers no end of grieffre

and Scaramanga / disinhibited, problems with anger / crashes his smoking Bentley banger / into an oak tree back of the manor / three times a tit / the doctors can’t seem to do anything about it

Raoul Silva / sits all day watching Bob the Builder / slyly smiles when the postman delivers / waves through the window but inwardly shivers

Hugo Drax / shovelling benzos, confusing his facts / absolutely cannot relax / till he’s sorted the planet and his income tax

Oddjob sobs / can’t work the knobs / on remote controls or kitchen hobs / sits all day on the rocker and bobs / his bowler hat throbs / till he swallows some caps and the trembling stops

Rosa Klebb / trips on a step / now she’s held a captive in bed / her feet in casts and a bandage on her head

Max Zorin / keeps on fallin / pushing his emergency button and callin / his family all in / can’t put any more support in

Jaws yawns / stares out emptily across the lawns

Welcome to Dementia, Mr Bond
I like it already

8 great beard styles for bald men

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

The Colonel
Bags of snap
wear with a cap
makes you want to march about
definitely a beard you can do without

The Shovel
Sharp, flat, not much trouble
starch it for clearing snow and rubble

The Nonsense
Half stubble, half chaff
Some love it, most laugh
strictly for those
with expensive clothes

The Octopus
Tentacles flying left and right
a sucker lover’s deep delight
unless you’re able to constantly wet it
forget it

The Glitch
The kind of beard a bot would knit
from cable ties or some such shit

The Hadron Kaleidoscope
Weirdly hyperactive
unnaturally attractive
sprouts in one particular spot
then moves around an awful lot

The Brexit
British Empire reminiscent
looks like hair but sadly isn’t

The Pocket Politician
Long, luxurious hirsute monster
maintain it with a generous sponsor

Stanlenstein!

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

My terrifying experiment’s almost complete!
(Igor’s ignoring it but I think it’s neat)
I’ll fetch it out for you – Please – Take a seat…

The head I commissioned from a taxidermist
rather unorthodox, terribly earnest
basically a cow skull totally refurbished

The body I fashioned from a furry settee
one part yak, two parts yeti
the penis I wove from wholewheat spaghetti

The legs are basically kitchen mops
hinged at the knees with Grolsch bottle tops
goes along nicely but struggles when he stops

You may find the next bit scrotum tightening
as I activate the monster with a bolt of lightning
(not strictly necessary but I think it’s exciting)

Behold! I call him Stanlenstein!
My creature of infernal design!
No photos please, the copyright’s MINE…!

[I left the Doctor to caper in his cape
Stanlenstein smiling with a gawpous gape
as I hurried outside for a calming vape

I heard he entered the beast in Crufts
The Horrors Group or some such stuff
I could say more but that’s enough]

Happy Halloween 2022!