trails
writing
the poet drifts, not long till lunch
and now…
2 poems about writing
build your own poem
last of the great deep enders
hi
it’s me
yer basic schnoodlum
one part shrug
two parts hoodlum
wasted it’s fair
on the slopes
of this chair
no hope
or hair
lamentably
there
dependably
spare
a shame
it’s a name
no one remembers
last in line
of the great deep enders
waving his arms
hands, legs
whatever he’s got
going nowhere
splashing a lot
writing sketch 1
just ignore him
one the one hand
you could say Stan
is one of the hairier muses
in that he effortlessly inspires and amuses
even when he simply snoozes
on the other hand
I’m afraid that Stan
is whatever the OPPOSITE of the muses is
like when you sit down to write and he confuses this
with a challenge to think of as many ways he can to stop you doing this
the butts
Mr Butt
somewhat
drawn up
like a head of celery forced in a suit
enormous brown glasses and a laugh to boot
like the hoot
of an ancient charabanc
that’d prang
through the back door
a couple of times a day or more
laughing and generally carrying on
like he was the audience and The Claytons were the sitcom
his wife Vera
quieter and clearer
hair in a coiffed pile
crow wing glasses sticking out a mile
her smile
a little tight
as if she might
accidentally say something she oughtn’t
and her visit could wait ‘cos it wasn’t important
and she’d knock quietly and call coo-ee
and hesitantly
make her entry
to see
if mum wanted her hair doing
Ken laughing and mooing
What’ve you gone and done with Len?
you haven’t gone and tied him up again?
Heaven Help Us! Christ! Stroll on!
I can’t keep up with all you Claytons!
etcetera, etcetera and so on
Many years later
Mum got new neighbours
the Butts moved on to a nearby close
a bungalow
easier I suppose
I went round to see ‘em
Vera in the kitchen
Ken, smaller and thinner
scribbling in a notebook as Vera made dinner
at least he’s keeping busy I said
Vera smiled and shook her head
said thank you dear, took the book
and gave it to me so I could look
pages after page of scribbled lines
the kind where kids pretend sometimes
What can you say except life is in flux
my parents are gone, no iffs, no Butts
and here I sit, Clayton Number Five
busily filling the screen with lines
Literary A&E: Four case histories
Patient A: 59 yo male. History of freewriting, blogging. Known to self-publish. Suffered an acute disarticulation of the expressive centre when experimenting with comedy shorts. Self-presented to this department with chronic spiritual pain & morbid imagery.
Treatment: 500ml bolus of Camus, five day course of anti-prolixities. Ref to writing support group.
Patient B: 20 yo female. History of confessional poetry and dilatory doodles. Social media addiction on a background of gothic selfies. Suffered a prolonged dystopia.
Treatment: stat dose 10ml Sharon Olds, 10ml Carol Ann Duffy, to be replaced in the community with Joan Didion and Patricia Lockwood.
Patient C: 82 yo female. Extensive history of village-based eulogia, Miss Read and R F Delderfield. Presented to this department via emergency mobile library, suffering a distressing episode of unexplained profanity. Found to be in ATBS (Acute Toxic Bucolic Syndrome).
Treatment: 10mg The Sopranos, IM. Ref to the James Herriot Memorial Clinic. Travelcard.
Patient D: 38 yo male. History of BA History, followed by MA Viking & Anglo-Saxon Studies. Developed Pernicious Sagamania, manifesting in tattoos, facial hair and intermittent DnD. Self-admitted to this department on a tandem he called his ‘long bike’.
Treatment: 1mg Paw Patrol, followed by a short course of PowerPuff Girls. Ref to community Norse Team.
jim clayton 