In the land of many ills
There’ll always be the one
That’s listening to the voices
(The ones nobody else can hear),
Where grain costs more as liquid –
In the city where rock is
Melted for gain and steel is
Twisted by prophets.
In the land of many ills
There’ll always be the one
That’s listening to the voices
(The ones nobody else can hear),
Where grain costs more as liquid –
In the city where rock is
Melted for gain and steel is
Twisted by prophets.
A little tremble
In the full lips,
A little tear –
That nobody ought notice –
Building in a blue eye;
Blonde hair waterfalls
Across a single loop ear ring.
Me? I’m – mostly – comfortable
Waiting for an onward connection
In this universal airport gate chair,
In this end-of-tour skin.
But this lady has my attention;
Lost maybe and in need.
I catch her gaze, hold it.
She forces a smile:
“Don’t mind me,” she drawls
“I’m just lookin’ for somebody …”
“Me too,” I’m thinking,
“But, Hell, Lady,
I’ll stop lookin’ if you will …”
But she’s gone before
The thought is complete.
When inventions weren’t
Nearly enough, the
Mothers smashed the
Candy-store windows;
Fast fingers, diamond lips …
Even though he had
Done no wrong, the
Gentle man was pushed away.
Some nights, an old-sweet child,
Hears those echoes, and
Is crying still.
He’s choppin’ at the strings
With intelligent-blues hands
Swappin’ up words ’bout
Love, the Devil and autumn
But beneath all the fury –
Raised voice, clenched fist;
Beyond the witch-gypsy mask
He still picks vegetables for
The local church harvest.
No point in asking the doctors
How long we will need
To decide if there is
Something wrong with time.
Have there always been
These soul-quiet streams
From the seas of space
That stop the darkness
Getting in, that keep us from
Getting past the questions?
Well, let’s see now:
I didn’t sleep under the bed
Last night and it was
Another pleasant-passed day
On the paradise bus.
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
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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
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