Doom with cheese…

But first…
Dulltown, Europe: Today’s biscuit is the ‘Jammie Dodger’ – a coarse sugary item, really only suitable for coarse fat greedy children.

A banging on my front door at 3 am last night – a drunken Simon Doom, writer and poet from the glory days of the Hull Surrealist League, on my doorstep loudly demanding hot cheese on toast and cups of coffee. It seems that he had just had a falling out with his intimate poet buddy Tony Mayonnaise, also from the glory days of the HSL. Well, what a surprise!
As you may recall from my earlier pages, the last time they made up, after a similar tiff, they both started dressing exactly alike, and both grew pointy ‘devil beards’ and died them ginger; well, I did notice as Simon lurked sneering in the gloom by the front door, that he had shaved his off. Mm… things must be serious!
Later, whilst I was in the kitchen putting bread in the toaster and boiling a kettle he apparently picked up one of my latest drawings, turned it over and scrawled this following spoem (‘spoof poem’, as he calls them) on the back, thus either decreasing or increasing the drawing’s future value, depending on which one of us is to become the more famous and collectable…

Dead crayon Rayon boot tatters,
Half bucket sad moon receptacle,
Galvanised cloud chute boom lamp,
Misery hearth grit trouser crease,
Parallel wind steam uneasiness…
Fire rip chug bastard tree-mould!
Answer card meat rope frenzy,
Dirty cut plane pink dance,
Lethargy pimp day succubus,
Leaden rose scent apology tears,
Penultimate dune, penultimate dune…
Fire rip chug bastard tree-plug!
Daylight prince dark spot register,
Beetroot blood net mount soapiness,
Filigree punch mark glass ditty,
Helmet child moss shank door gloss,
Shirt scone elbow deluge upset…
Fire rip chug bastard tree-stick!
Prissy sheath stink marble ox stump,
Taut Melba squeeze bag trumpet,
Rolling dog, rolling hog, divided ink,
Cinema soot boy melancholy melody,
Greed box pork leap niceties…
Fire rip chug bastard tree-dial!
Simon Doom. 2012.


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, food, Grumpiness, poetry, surrealism, words, writing and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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