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in collection Loss Adjuster, 2007,

bluechrome, ISBN 1-904781-57-8


Homage to Stanley

 (on the death of Stanley Unwin)


Gobble is dead. Long may she liver .

Never his gabble so much on the radiophobe

As today , when silence stuff his cleft palate

With its black dentifrice.


All we utter thus when bakelite spuddle

Steamified and scorchy

Make of our tongue a fat Q.


Only Mikhail Bent-tin spake so weasel

To little papoose that we had to

Stuff our mouth with hankerchives.


Stanley . A monicker to conjurbole.

Not he of the jungle hi-de-hi

Or jolly Fat Boy Slim .

Could he have got titter with gobble

Has his label read Wayne

Or JCB Donoval ?


I think not , seldom , never if sometime.

What’s in a monicker , you ask,

A rosyglow by any other,

Pongsweet balcony kiss and such.

Ay , there’s the rubicon.


And now from the gravyboat

We hear him everywhere.


All the speshy blandines of Mister Tony Blather,

All excuse why the price be wider ,

The tramcar conky , the gasbill kerpow ,

All sing to the strain of his loop-ole solfa,

All smack of Stanley now.


David Ashbee


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