The gorgeous , frolicsom, Juvenile deliquents do lithesome, pogo stick leaps down the silly road, like mice set free in a forest, they bound away through the leaves in great arcs, in rainbow shaped trajectories, across the leafy floor into the the distant trees. Like those mice, I feel for them. They would have rather stayed in the warm house hiding between the rafters. But unlike mice THEY can stand on two feet.
Leaving Newcastle on Tyne.. By Tony Chapman.
Lovers say goodbye, bid farewell, part
hands like butterflies, quicksilver eyes
who dares to say they are wrong?
who dares to say they are right?
to condemn them in their blindness?
to condemn them in their sight?
to lock them in the pitfalls of their weakness?
to lock them in the mountains of their might?
Grief was a word unknown to me
– until the parting of a loved one
– but it had to be
– I had to see
though l had closed my eyes.
Child of the moon
I have lived in your glow for three years now
is it time that puts so many links in our chain?
or is it thine and mine hands
that secure the lock
with happiness and pain?
The chains of mystery are padlocked together
the keys lost for ever and ever.
The chain that binds, that unites us as one
Seagull, I just catch a glimpse of your white feather wings
as I cross the rusting, iron bridge
of the big, dirty, no-man’s river of dockland.
Newcastle upon Tyne, North of England,
I came to you like beauty to the beast.
you were nuzzled into its
great, ugly, rusty (horrific) breast.
I leave its sculptured wasteland
of cranes and grubby children
of its diaries
with black and blanked pages.
I wander down its ribbonous highway
an opal mint in my mouth,
a duffle bag over my shoulder,
singing inside my head
with age that little bit older
in a “United Automobile Services Ltd.,
GRANGE RD. DARLINGTON Coach”
out into the world.