Moonlight milk and honey balm Croham Hurst's acred boughs. Sacred beech, I approach, heavy browed, with gift for the archbishop's palm. . His Grace, at the bar, dishevelled glasses, resplendent, resembling ale keg, East German anarchist, bon viveur, hedge, and cavalier, proves himself a carefree dancer. . With ceremony of taper, of mantled candles: tea … Continue reading Ceremony at 19:19
Coupled beneath heavy blankets they dozed, untroubled by weather; inspired, betroved. After first, second, third, breakfast, they rose; shadows in candlelight glow, unclothed. The kissing of hallowed relics in Durham is allowed, I’ve heard. As is the giving of chips to crows. In the cenotaph garden at Amble, the clocks are still, for the living. … Continue reading The Best of Whitney Houston.
1 The frame is glazed with October hugging brick and black mackintosh, anvil noise, pedestrian crush. 2 Train-bent, late and suddenly lost, I search my face for tell tale signs. Pulp paperback roof for my head. 3 With pockets of galleon moths a jam jar collection of copper I thumbed The Road To Wigan Pier. … Continue reading I Thumbed The Road To Wigan Pier
Yesterday, a photograph - acorns, on a table, jarred - appeared before me. Curiously, the reverse revealed a label, written; sinistral, spectral; snared within open quote marks, reckoning October, nineteen ninety-five. . Inclining from the past to present, the ink, faded and reminiscent of early morning light as this November beckons, reminding me that memory … Continue reading November Beckons
First time back out in a while at the cool 3 Tanners Bank in North Shields where I Was made most welcome by the crew and crowd. I Wonder where three years went... Many thanks to Experiments In Fiction for capturing the evening in words and film. Thank you. https://www.youtube.com/embed/A0-5hFBHMq8?version=3&rel=1&showsearch=0&showinfo=1&iv_load_policy=1&fs=1&hl=en&autohide=2&wmode=transparent Marking their post-pandemic return to … Continue reading Cassettes Live @ Three Tanners Bank — Experiments in Fiction
Beneath an all night blanket blues, barefoot in the attic rooms, side one of Beggars Banquet blooms and, in the static hum, . summoning my Nicky Hopkins (juju, voodoo, déjà vu): my sole, rising, falling. The carpet drums. I woo the other Rolling Stones. . But someone seems to be missing. By the kettle in … Continue reading The Other Rolling Stones.
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