...

birdie bland felt cold last night, sought out miss dulcie wintle, said let's go to the alley cock fight.
'no birdie, not me, not since someones gone and eaten my sanity... it's like when you built my house on hens legs stilts which ain't no good when a water snake does swim my way..'

Sometimes we wander by mistake

Model: Navras NegativeOne

Merry Christmas Folks!

Prose Poem Four

Tesco sells flowers. They stand them in bunches in buckets of water tightly grouped together looking at you like children in an orphanage wanting you to select one of them, if not children then dogs with reckless faces that nod in supplication. They, the blooms are the stuff of ardour, of love. They are gifts given on mothering Sunday or to a lover, a wife or someone dear to you. These are the flowers of romance or flowers for funeral parlours, their petals soft, colour coded to match the mood: love and death, birth and decay – two ends of the same spectrum. I touch the blooms, feel their velvety softness. I rub my forefinger and thumb against them then lift my fingers to my nose. The musky scent is like the earth, pungent like the mystic force of sex. The thought of buying a bouquet crosses my mind, but no one has died. No moon or stars have eclipsed my sky.

Obscuro Quasar

Model: André Consciência

*

Brains of the Earth

Boot Print On The Heart

Prose Poem Three

 

She shouts her hate at me. I shout mine back. Tit for tat, tit for tat. Two adults returned to childhood. Name calling like spitting cats. Claws sharpened by razor thin hurt, the subtleties of communication descending to primitive depths. Doors slam shut loudly in the face of memory. The fuzzy edges of love turned sour. Sentences formed in full caps.  Sentences never finished - Punctuation emphasising the fractured syntax of the relationship. At the epicentre of the conflict lies blame. It is a bruised fist of unequal proportions. North of England is flooded. Silt covers carpets and the lower floors of houses. An advert sings. A newscaster informs. Silence shunts the sound of rage into submission as TV regains sway over the empty living room.  

Classwar Karaoke survey 0020