Category: strangeness
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The Crops are all in
The crops are all in, the red iron has rusted. l’m taking a bus across the barron hill road. l’m Iooking for love – none to be found – its the individual who suffers, in vain – the overall picture is numb, no feelings – just a haughty, know-it-all vision, expressing itself in huge flourishes…
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cold evening in Amsterdam
…feet cold, nose cold, knees cold – cold ice covered, shiny, slippery surface – got to cycle carefully – balance, balerina-like, on my cold metal bike. But at least its not raining. …and the fat, happy carrots hang, dangling, from golden, diamond encrusted sticks and we follow them, never quite reaching their orange, chrisp, suculant,…
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hema cup of coffee. Amsterdam. Nl.
Hema cafe cup of coffee on the Hema cafe table, balanced like a ”juggler balances a bottle of wine” – (Bob Dylan) caught fresh faced (and I’m off and running) hands full of no-mans land platitudes, and conferences of 4 legged, two horned bull-ring bull survivors, snorting, and sending red-caped platitudes to the Bull God…
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Dear everyone the last few blogs were a bit of an experiment – I got a bit lost and mixed up – I think the quality dropped a bit ..
Dear everyone: the last few blogs were a bit of an experiment – I got a bit lost and mixed up – I think the quality dropped a bit … sorry about that – worrying about money – just got off plane – probably should have gone to sleep instead of lying in bed experimenting…
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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.
Tony Chapman-Art Music Writing 