What lies in store behind closed doors they're magical places surprises galore ? Who knows from here our thoughts are extraneous; a battered old garden or a Narnia for atheists ? ...
Poetry
puddle power
Yes Puddles are alive in a variety of shapey-sizes from 1 droplet of Puddle-Stuff to 2 thirds of the Earth. The bits that stagger Puddles are classed as 'Streams' 'Big Streams' or 'Land' strange heathen places despised by Ye Gods so everyday these Puddles EXPAND ...
definitely a brewing
The bin by the bus stop wasn't bursting to the brim & the bakers had a symbolic queue of 2, the birds they sang of Spring then other chirpy feathery things as last night's rainfall in the river obeyed the valley - flowed on through. A Libran nearly sneezed as the chimneys smoked freely unblocked by stuck burglars or dark Satanic soot, this is conspiracy the calm before the treachery the seeds of deceit shit, something's afoot ...
grow your own toenails
Grow your own toenails breathe your own air scratch your own itchy arse moan at that there. Perform your own pantomime eat your own toast whilst life-permitting then be your own ghost ...
feed the child
Mum can we have chips for tea with ambrosia fish fingers - mushy peas then lemon meringue pies plus manna from the skies & get a fuckin' move on I'm hungry please? ...
blame the parenthesis
As the funeral for an onion who died tragically young sad-timely hymns sung. Then lacrimal laments bulbous allium torments wailing not whaling sad shit - intense. Or since applying more cream in the hope it may redeem but that definitely exceeds residual seeping - there shall be weeping ...
the haunted city
6 miles to the south of here the haunted city lies; Celtic, Roman, Saxon, Norse - the Normans of course yes, built by times. & I like to pop in on a Wednesday; bother the library, have a chat with lamp posts plus stock up on toiletries from Mother-Poundland but bus it home before dark mind for fear of phantoms ghosts ...
climb ing
Almost at the top I turn around to the valley behind the bulk of what's been climbed since gradient is in decline. The village below looks like a tiny model-village yet less detail - fainter, scant plus populated by ants. The clouds above me still they don't seem that much closer which can only be an illusion as the Sky Gods thrive on confusion. & then a murmur utters 'further' determination reapplied (very) almost at the top now but what lies beyond the other side ? ...
some stuff about the other bit
Snails race at great pace practically supersonic like an Otter on Berrocca or Billy Whizz but actually on it. Also rivers flow backwards Bats speak Flemish Bears shun all porridge Blackbirds sleep it's that half hour of the week & annoyingly some trees they fall in forests. Plus the Gnomes they compose Gnome-Poetry crude garden-based cantons & Magical stanzas when unseen - so free of man - no peeping & NO hidden cameras ...
hum a music-thing
Hum a music-thing upon awakening as shite daytime punches y' face; the Radezky March or the theme tune from Emmerdale whatever row rows your boat - a songbird chirp or hurdy-gurdy 'n' bass. Hum a music-thing in shit-traffic & HUGE queues & whilst surviving the jostley pavements in town, hum a music-thing then every1 else might join in until atishoo atishoo we all fall down ...
resarf poetry 