The Bristol Arm.

[I'm reposting this from a couple of years back as it's Bob Dylan's birthday today - keep on keeping on. Peace x]   Martin Kettle, formally of Stoneyclough but now resident of Penn Beacon, was stood on a table in the Eight Kings. He was taping the fourth corner of a large poster of Bob … Continue reading The Bristol Arm.

Barroom beams.

  "Bow low to the cello, French horn & bellows." Her songs barrel in the barroom beams.   Her Samba unravels. She learned in the mirror the poems of Brazilian queens.   The elegant prose, she hones all through winter, is wreathed in magic & music & dreams.         collage & acrylic … Continue reading Barroom beams.

the moon before.

  the thinner spectre of the two, serene and pale and half in shadow, from the creases of the curtain, floats a plaintive lullaby into the swollen greenwich evening. her song for sleepless children.   'a painted fort for poorly cowboys, a teepee for the squaw and chieftain. a mountain range of wooden blocks to … Continue reading the moon before.