Category: Filí my pockets
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How Old Is Your Land?
How old is the land It is a haunted planet Who planted it, that which grew Who planned it, who knew before knowing Who went before going was
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Land Falling from Arch Avatar’s Hand
It fell from his tender hand Stood from primordial soup Now the ancient land stoops with age Stoops on which wide-hatted sages sat.
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Bombs in Billets
Mr Burke from Battersea has an early start Up with larks, ensuring binmen do their jobs If you spy him circuiting the park he is warden of, and try stalking past him He will shout as if you had not seen him and were keen to stop and talk He bellows about battle Overseas retreats…
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The Land
Badgered plants badge blasted heath Lawns quartered fence between Planned out like Battenburgs spans betwixt Many hands wild horses flank, tracked with speedslime Mother nature affixed in brumal beauty Afflicting heather abundant Smothering eggshell plumage covers ruins Broccoli tops jut out amongst rocks a was-roof consisted of In derelict barns owls like reapers on long-armed rafters…
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Give us ends
Nobody will cry when I go, Lot’s wife Neither column-raising triumph nor column-chasing crime trial traces my time as pilot of helots Step stymies on threshold Arrogance of me expecting clapping zealots hot on heels I never go without looking overshoulder Alm bowls filled bonuses princely, my quill’s trilling instilled validity People who said I…
Alchemisland 