The girl with polka dotted wellies is shin deep in garden cavorting in a pine bark sea because under the tip, flip, drizzling it’s a four inch day. My plastic tablecloth billows and the carpark's running downhill - gravel rush and mud skin... and there’s the bob-gloss of umbrellas and a three foot leap with … Continue reading Four Inch Day
Twiglet #275 beached words: silver grain or threaded weed, fishy skeletons of age-old rules, evolution’s suck and stench that’s English frisbee words, handled with a strong wrist flat and placid, good for skimming. silver flick and thrumming rings that’s English pop-up shop words, noisy arcade or neon words, big-headed pushy words, elbowing to the front … Continue reading World of Words
Imagine (she said to the sky) if I were but a snip of smoke exhaled from a god’s mouth smelling of toothpaste and whatever tobacco you grow up there. I guess we’d all be higher beings. Written for Twiglet #258 "Snip of smoke"
a tin’s stain sat in satin.
If I cut off my much-abused left side I’d instantly be heartless and one-eyed. What an achievement, what a gem! I’d have the makings of PM!
All the signs of spring I'm seeing: like spilled ink, the green is fleeing; trees in blossom; young birds tweeing and the bees are busy beeing. Up, the mercury is treeing and the grass growth it is spreeing and you can't but help agreeing that the bees are busy beeing. I think that I might … Continue reading Busy Bees
Written for Sonnet Sunday - Prompt by Experiments in Fiction I don’t fall into winter, not like the dead leaves, but charge in, daubed cheeks and white breath; eager mornings tugging aside curtains’ sheaves to see the silvering frost-blanket the night has left. I don’t fall into winter, wishing for some brakes holding arms in … Continue reading Fall into Winter (Canberra – Australia)
I want to climb the poet tree and see the world as poets see. I want to go out on every limb and find out how to prune and trim. I want to know about every root, the hunt and suck of nutritional loot. And what about the flowers and bark those beautiful accessories that … Continue reading Poet’s Garden
Late night stabbing: man run through by dubious kebab!
My outvoice is nothing special I think it will do the job but then it cracks on high notes and disappears on low notes and wobbles sometimes erratically. It has been booed at Karaoke and gone into long-term hiding. But my invoice is magnificent as strong as Shirley Bassey as softly clear as Dido as … Continue reading Invoice
Out of the Cave 