The blood,
The hours
They spill
So quiet,
So quick.
And they
Run, run, run
Like tears
From the sun:
The blood,
The hours
They spill
So quiet,
So quick.
And they
Run, run, run
Like tears
From the sun:
Blond panther in beggar-black rain
Is pacing beautiful blue-silver
Dapple paths that stretch
From then to beyond
On velvet-whisper pads.
Unseen by even the cat,
Man, still-sitting on
Drum Back mountain stack
Watches it all unfold once again;
Hearing music in the
Tiny perfect silences,
Feeling tears drawn out
Of history’s eyes.
5/9/2013
As if overstaying
My fragile welcome
Were not enough
I had to fall
Off the wagon again;
Fall so hard I missed my
Leaving-thunder train
By a pocketful of hours.
Now I’m buying
Time, whisky and friends
In a lock-in bar, while,
Outside, in the sodium lit fog
Two hog-jockeys and
A crooked lawman
Take it out of the
Latest version of my god.
Ghost of the Big man
Blows tears through his
Angel horn, like he always did:
Truth is a pale, poor story.
21/6/2013
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