A perfect line with the edge spread, so typographical the news being said, white paper, black print, headlines such as this must be worth a mint, tragedy strikes all the same, it wasn’t the print, but it was the name, my thought was ‘Someone has gone wrong in the head’ the day that I read “THE KING IS DEAD”
Tainted bite carried in the breeze with chimney smoke, wrapped in garment quilt and fine, sheep shiver woolly less readying for lambing season, the John Deere’s chugging lights shine in the fog, farmers wife cooking delicious pie in her old green Aga with logs.
Annie waits for the lift in her twenty floor block, gone ten minutes since 9 O’clock, shopping bags are heavy, icy cold shrill, up twelve flights with a weight that could kill, seventy two years last Sunday week, husband unwell, he has the inability to tell.
a family of four, man and woman, children two and five, Adam had an accident tragically died, Kate in a wheelchair MS bound, still she can get up and move around, sadly not entitled because of this flaw, although unable to open the kitchen draw.
Oxford to live Oxford to die, a university challenge, a long time to cry, birth into wealth, a history at thirty born into a world where he is ejected and dirty, becomes a politician, climbs to the top, lost touch of humanity, has a fear to ever stop, promising one day to make them all pay, cut all the benefit’s to richen his way,
Be the judge, the go between, smoke is smoke, a proportional screen, money in paper goes unseen, sometimes rich and sometimes poor, decide for yourself what your tax is for, for all to share or the box in your drawer, make your vote count, remember, who for.
Lost in a troubled mind, yet I find the truth is hard to bare, there is not a soul there, no one dare be caught in the fall out of despair to dissipate who knows where, alone, in fear.
in my solitude I am the storm blowing leaves on a dreary day, the noise in my head will not sway, thus leaves venturing near, rise up…..to blow away,
placid Perfunctory , oh my heart despair, an angel in the desert wandering within the proximity of thy soulful care, a sensual clad day invites eve, night falls to take advantage of thy meekness, abuses the persuasion of my weakness, a mirage is at hand, alas once again everything turns to sand.
Within this wall, I hear no sound, no reaction, I feel no love, within this wall
Within this wall, all is empty, I cannot hurt anyone, except myself, within this wall
Within this wall, there is no gain, no reason to remain, from Reality I abstain within this wall
Within this wall, I shake with fear, no one is near, they would not dare or care within this wall
within this wall, I can be an image of what I could become, there are none but me, within this wall
Within this wall, no one hears my scream, I am dead, within this wall.
Chug chug shhh shhh whoooo as it pulls away
Sir winston Churchill brigade parade
Steam embroiled platform
the story of a special day
I don my cap, then salute the scene
A memory that I cannot recall
I have less than any, if any at all
A small 00 model with a crowd so small
to create a time scailed piece
A resurgent rush of blood
an instantaneous release
courageous end of an oblivious struggle
They buried the dead then picked up the rubble.
Everything has gone, fascinating colours of fireworks light the sky , I cannot bring you here to see, no..the memories bring you near to witness a spectacular showing of my misery, tears fall, because I cannot bring you here to me.
On the outside looking inside watching others having fun, on the outside looking inside wishing I were one. On the outside of life, in a crowd of just me, on the outside of heaven, dreaming I could be.
Waste is everywhere here and antartic plastic reaches wildlife in deep lost spaces chicks of albatross in depths of the artic fragments of p...
