Wool, Liquid, Hinge
Simply begin with thin liquid stripper
and follow the procedure outlined below.
Fill a bucket with hot water
and a small amount of dishwashing liquid,
dip a cotton wool bud or tiny brush in
and put a drop on the edge of the beak.
When projects call for changes
you can use yarn bobbins to ease the colour;
samples can be filtered through glass wool
and you can wear them with everything!
One trick is to pour a little transmission fluid
every time a piece of furniture is dusted:
the cupboard door grooves after centrifugation
though it is easy to set up and pack away.
If the door drops down when opened
then the hinges are worn out.
Do not place containers with flammable liquids
on this irreplaceable instrument.
Pins are meant to stay in.
Wild, Imaginative, Picturesque
Let's do something nice. I present you
with a situation, you tell me what to do.
Just follow my detailed written instructions
along with the step by step picture diagrams.
Using a large box, paint the inside blue
from the corner to the horizontal line
and take the box with you wherever you go,
along with a windmill, a dart, a whistle,
puzzles, balls, birds and fish, perhaps a wiggly worm.
This inflatable is like a pumped-up version:
metamorphic large scale folds and faults
fold away and snap together into a small pouch,
all ultra-strong, tangle-free and easily stowable,
taking up very little space when you travel.
Thanks for the videos! However, they are
very hard to follow or to understand.
Although I am not of local descent
it looked so neat I wanted to give it a try,
and the short frontage of trees makes it a favourite spot
in the land of the wild, the imaginative and picturesque.
The Dead Never Die
'One hopes the present will last, and be the past'
- Charles Wright, 'Who Knows What Lurks in the Hearts of Men'
The dead never die when we want them to,
which is often never. Instead, they leave us
when least expected, always too early or late.
Of course, I'm thinking of you as I write this
but also grandma, Mr Chubb, my father
and others I wished had stayed around
for me to get to know. But it doesn't work
like that, although in some strange way
you are still around. I don't mean ghosts
or spooks, but something more than memory
survives and intervenes the moment we decide
to think about the past and all our might-have-beens.
Well, it might, but it isn't and won't be any time soon.
How many more times must we face the facts
and say goodbye? That's a question
we can't know the answer to, though some
have had due warning, known what was coming
and had to decide how to live the life left to them.
From hide and seek to heartache, we can never
chase the dark away, will always be alone;
Sunday's refrain is not enough. Who knows,
or could know, the state of grace any more
as the rolling bomb of months and days
bounces away under grey winter skies?
And here's the ego talking:
Did you ever use my poems
in class like you said you might?
My travel plan does not preclude
diversions or different trajectories;
this is not a boarding pass.
By focussing in on the decay
we draw attention to the structure
revealed through crumbling walls,
the infrastructure if you like,
the way it was originally built.
How the past has followed us:
one of the voices used in this volume
is there only to quietly catalogue
the discarded items of the dead.
If you read the newspapers
then you will know that poems
should look like this. It is easy
to take it one stage further
and promote a more fluid approach
to life. What advice do you have?
How should text perform in the world?
And did you ever use my poems
in class like you said you might?
Copyright © Rupert Loydell, 2012