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,
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,
As night’s new choreographed clouds
Roll in and over me
I’m sitting, again,
Whole but alone again
In borrowed skin
Beneath a tree that struggles
To fit beneath the sky.
Between a warm metal heron and
A broken kitchen chair leg
I’m stabbing craziness onto
Poorly seen, second use paper
By stuttering light of gutter candles
With stubborn fingers and a
Well-chewed crayon stub.
Not everything has changed.
Not everything needs to.
25/7/2013
Adventures in the life of an English allotment
Original Nature 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.
Sharing moments of life + motherhood to encourage fellow mommas
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