Limping Doom…

But first…
Dulltown, Europe: Today’s heraldic term is ‘at gaze’ – of deer, looking towards the viewer.
Deer do sometimes look rather puzzled and stupid when they glance up from reading their newspapers to stare at you…
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Speaking of stupidity, I bumped into Simon Doom, writer and poet from the glory days of the Hull Surrealist League, yesterday. He was limping out of the grounds of the Hull Royal Infirmary and had a white bandage on his head. I didn’t need to ask him what had happened – even when he was several yards away, he launched into the tale of how he was in a rough pub talking art with a big hairy-armed sculptor, and their views on various topics did not quite coincide. Of course, alcohol fuelled blows were eventually exchanged. Big hairy sculptors are not the best people to pick fights with; generally they tend to be quite emotionally volatile and are strong as a couple of donkeys.
When he had finished the long and involved tale, Doom reached into the back pocket of his jeans and produced a small creased notebook. He ripped a page out and handed t to me saying, ‘Dave, you are a real pal…’ and staggered off towards the bus stop.
Here is his ‘spoem’ (spoof poem):

What a reception…
Are you on reception this morning?
Plug in your tan shop glowing face.
Tweak the perma-smile up at the corners.
Let your vermilion talons hover over your keys…
Look up and beam at the next grateful stiff.
Office suits suit your office…
That’s a nice fresh corporate blouse…
Do you exist in the evenings?
Whoever are you then?
What about hot nights?
Or even Knights in from the cold?
May I make an appointment please?
I like your warm veneer…
And your air of efficiency…
But your sad eyes say it all…

Simon Doom. 2011.

 

About Dave Whatt

Grumpy old surrealist artist, musician, postcard maker, bluesman, theatre set designer, and debonair man-about-town. My favourite tools are the plectrum and the pencil...
This entry was posted in art, conversation, heraldry, poetry, surrealism and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

3 Responses to Limping Doom…

  1. Snoring Dog Studio says:

    I barely exist in the evenings much after 8:30 pm. And hot nights? Well, they are a distant memory…

  2. Snoring Dog Studio says:

    Loved the poem, by the way!

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