I am here,
Though not consciously invited:
Red-ghost guest
At year’s-end party.
I quicken mascaraed pulses,
I am here,
Though not consciously invited:
Red-ghost guest
At year’s-end party.
I quicken mascaraed pulses,
From the frozen-gutter pulpit
Outside the chase-road Church
Of the Old Blow-Down Birch
The animated, grizzled-curate crow
Rants and roars at all
The passing traffic,
Will there be more change
After the last change?
Will it be worth the having?
Will it show the real value
Of what we had?
Of what we gave away,
What, perhaps we lost?
Who will wear the target shirt
Now my time has been served?
Will they wear it
With strength, abandon
And casual pride
The way I wished I had
When I had the chance?
She stretches long slim limbs
Across the paths
Tipped by fingers wind-stirred fingers.
December-sun blued catkins
Sat back earlier today to watch some mind-numbing pre-Christmas telly. Seemed to be a good idea after some usual seasonal stress.
But what I settled on, after some channel hopping was disturbing, wonder-filled and astounding, even though I had missed the first half an hour or so.
A documentary film entitled Waste Land.
Adventures in the life of an English allotment
Original Nature + Culture Photojournalism
Garden Blog of the Year 2016
Welcome to my world: digging, harvesting and other stuff
for your family
The evolution of an old farmhouse, an American woman, an Englishman and their dogs.
If you could go anywhere you wanted, where would you be headed right now?
surfing my tsunami
blowing through the cobwebs of my mind
Just another WordPress.com weblog
Writing the Wrong, Right, and Ridiculous
Life after the Care Farm
The most Dangerous plant to sleep under is the water lilly
Local History for Great Wyrley and Surrounding Areas
Tales from the mouth of a wolf
introspection & reflection, poetry & prose
Posts about old Hollywood, current concerns
Gunn4