i think i may like to travel to small places,
old and full of history. deep aged fabrics
stained with the words of time. to touch.
black crow bird
pecks road kill.
hoping for a sandwich.
regrets come free.
free as rain on my face
to wash through to take it all away; better that way.
into rivers below.
one time in tidal flood
water came down muddy & high took the cattle away
blocked the bridge; we ran to see still in our pyjamas.
the boy came running to say the debris from the upper village
was on the way
to stand back.
saw the water behind us.
retreated high up along the wall.
we named it the great storm & never remember the year.
some things are better swept away.
once upon a time…
yes once was enough & there is hope it will not be repeated over
the evil of it all
i am sure you remember…
prayers are spoken each hour
the bell rings
once upon a time..
no, it happens all the time when folk are kind all the time
it comes in layers like a trifle pudding
yet more important than a mere dessert
prayers were spoken each hour
the bell rang
once upon a time
at the black,
see the window
i am not alice.
does not go down.
they have it in
and have you
got a pound
island monkeys could not
no plane no nothing
sadly they read books on other countries
with adventues, himalayas & ranuph fiennes
looking for ideas
researching kon tiki expedition
looked for something to float
& found a wheelbarrow
he had pockets of stones
so heavy his trousers
first i met him small & wet from the river
dry he wore the white dress
his hair curled damply down his back
we filmed him
we photographed him
he is taller now & remains
much the same