Tag: creative writing
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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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Smashed at Actium
Gold much in Egypt Gods older than the foam which drank Atlantis Arch fantasist whose phantom hand called up every flower He toward whom all followers tend eventually Ear lender whose housing lobes empathic eternal paternal tenderness At disposal every power, every rotad hour known to he Oldest When ceaseless cleansing rains started, the heart…
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Chronicles of the Dusk Ages III – Beliefs and Customs of Feathermen
Virididerms with drawn faces from places you and I cannot place on any map Their mountains formed by ruins marking our world’s devastation They believe in diminutive elder races, first to walk the face of the earth Their faces were turned from Sol, they never returned from their subterrene halls Beneath the mounds, centuries sleeping,…
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Chronicles of the Dusk Ages I – Ends of Earth Prior to Earth’s End
A moment to consider perception in our conception of our origins Convex time mirror distorts an eye’s intake, slakes only a beholder’s tastes If there was ever a snake it lived there in the neck’s nape, changing all we see into a reflection of our obsessions Stimulated by lights from rising lanterns we have forgotten…
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Durty Priest
Evidence I spent Lourdes trip money accrued from our Lenten fete On two fire-breathing hooers, they, reputedly, flew down from Glasgow For a weekend of beer and blow They write that I wrote to an agency describing myself as a middle-aged priest looking to get back into his mojo Allegedly I wanted two girls who’d…
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Hills we die on, hail to the freedom fighters
Floozy is our floating rock, thigh-shower Cold shower, grower not a shower Groves of bee-loud clover and smothering vanilla-headed heather Sacred hawthorne resplendent and thorned, adorned with whitefeather petals Every verdant blend abounds, as if one wore lenses of augmented ferns to lend extra green to what’s beheld. Hills we die on, Ireland our zion…
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Flyer Tour of Hell
I have drunk sacred ox blood and fasted long to cleanse toxins Three days spent encoffined so that cough-inducing atmosphere at fox-red origin of all poxes and toxins does not instantly rob me of life I blessed my knife and prayed never to draw it Impressed brands to my naked chest, mark forever etched there…