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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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