Wednesday, December 21, 2011


By ROYAL Appointment
Become a hamburger in Helmand
Or bolognaise in Baluchistan
Drive around in cloud of dust
Like spam in an armoured can

I started off with psychedelics
And ended up with diuretics.

In brave young Technicolor days by the sea,
I saw the black cat that,
Did not cross my path,
Elongate itself into a multilegged curve,
like a black furred millipede,
as it turned a corner,
To avoid me.

Seagulls flew like biplanes
Over a deserted winter shingle beach,
And spirits spoke mysterious messages
From inside piles of folded deckchairs.

For sixpence we could make the
Laughing Sailor in the amusement arcade laugh
And he would guffaw,
Mechanically and maniacally
Into the teeth of a Channel gale

On good trips
I sometimes felt that I benignly controlled
The Solent with my solar plexus
And could by sheer concentration,
Calm the waves to rippling blue
And bring the Isle of Wight ferry
Safely into harbour.

Just as well since,
If the rumours, that I heard were true,
Half its crew,
Were on Acid too.

But now instead of waiting
To come up into a rush of revelation
I nervously await the onset
Of the urgent need to urinate
Oh, Froosemide,
I hate you so, you nasty pill
Punishing me
With enforced micturation,
For days by the sea
When drugs gave me visions.

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