I have just learnt that my old friend Martin Grampound died recently.

Some time ago
he asked that when his time came
I should not  publish any long obituaries.

He said that he hoped I'd try and preserve
a few of his unpublished poems
and keep his ezine going if possible.
He gave me permission to remove any pages
that had "passed their sell-by date"
and to add any new pages which I thought
would fit in with his philosophy.

It will take me several weeks probably
to update all the pages on Zimmerzine,
but I will do a few at a time until the work is complete.
Zimmerzine is at
http://www.nhi.clara.net/zimzine.htm

Below is one Martin's poems.

I shall miss him

yours sincerely
Gerald England

Friday 13th.

79 days, since our first kiss.
Her boss won't give her a holiday.
This morning she spent 19 minutes on the toilet.
I found the dog licking her naked toes.
Over morning coffee, blind Bill talks about the delicate rays of cypress
leaves!
He used to be one of the local hells angels before his knees gave way.
The birds singing outside remind me of her voice;
how her shadow fell across the window and the scaffolding.
I have a headache.
My income tax check bounces.
Bill says he has to have a black cat.
He dreamt that he woke up beside one of his ex-wives.
You wake up for this!
He asked me to join him for lunch.
Onion stew.

HOW CAN YOU TELL WHEN IT'S GOING TO BE A BAD DAY?
Your car-horn goes off accidentally and the whole street comes out to
complain.

Throw sugar over your birthday cake.
It collapses from the heat of the city.

MARTIN GRAMPOUND