Category: fiction
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Golden bird 5th version
3/1/2013 On plane waiting to take off back to Amsterdam from Gatwick. Christmas over. British Airways. Easyjet plane next to ours who we spurned and took on the cheaper! and better conditions of BA: don’t have to pay for baggage in the hold! the flight is cheaper than easyjet! AND you get a FREE! cup…
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Rich as birds 2nd version
Rich as birds, on spires of silver, (toothbrush in one hand, old leather travelling bag in the other, speaking in a cracked, sad, rasping voice, sort of coughing the words out, “…and where are my precious stone mosaics that scatter minefields in their wake?” Pleasured by mysterious little meaningful cows, Hyperion at the window,…
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Rich as birds 2
Rich as birds, on spires of silver, (toothbrush in one hand, old leather travelling bag in the other, speaking in a cracked, sad, rasping voice, sort of coughing the words out, “…and where are my precious stone mosaics that scatter minefields in their wake?” Pleasured by mysterious little meaningful cows, Hyperion at the window,…
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Rich as birds
Rich as birds on spires of silver and precious stone mosaics that scatter minefields in their wake no cursers are gonna blink on me no scratch pad sensasionalists and gonna turtle dove on me
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the Goodie
…. the chrysalis releases its diamond cargo which uncrinkles itself, which flutters its amythest wings and alights beside a ruby hummingbird on a hypocrytical cactus…
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On the other side of these dark hills.
Night time running stream outside below my Hassocks window heavy rushing bubbling pouring stream very full of water tumbling off the South down hills, outside at end of garden, in this Sussex English countryside darkness. Some trees then night time fields stretching away to the gently sloping hills: the South Downs: a dark wave…
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The Walkers
The Walkers, this time, make their way up the solid, vertical wall, picking their way carefully, between cacti and airvents. “Who?”asks Vermont Rosewater. “The jars!” spits back the Vehement and they almost stroll past the vertical Windows, gobstoppers in their intricate, little rosebud-mouths.
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Now comes a dawn crammed full of birdsong
Now comes a dawn crammed full of birdsong – of riches beyond imagining. Cloth-eared – running – scared, monumental in the grey dawn’s cloth-eared light, transandental yet inconsequential, it rotates endlessly, effortlessly, stupidly, towards tomorrow.
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golden boxes
Call me for luxurious items. l do not refer them to you or anyone else. Only the sun warps our shadows as they spatter the raw tarmac with dark, ominous pools.
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grrrrr…
grrrr…. the hole punchers chatter and dilute the truth and dribble it into glasses of alcohol free absinth while the Grand Master Klingon beseeches sad Hercules to give him one more chance, “Give me – please” he sobs and H. turns the other cheek, ” Wack away oh Grand Master Klingon” he sneers, lovingly. Meanwhile outside their…
Tony Chapman-Art Music Writing 