The moon petals the sea. Rose petals the sea. Stone sea. Stone petals. Rose petals of stone. Stone rising before me. Sea moves. How moves...
It all depends, you see, how you go about it. And that I cannot tell you, for that will be dictated by you and by you knowing your friends...
This post has in a sense been handed to me by two or three responses to my post On not getting it. In the course of discussing how a reade...
Hello everyone who follows David King (My Father). On behalf of the family this post is to let you know that Dad sadly passed away, peacefu...
Tom Lubbock, writing in The Independent (friday 15 May 2009) returned to the age old topic of censorship in the arts. Well, in painting act...
Saturday, 16 March 2013
On Tasting Magic Mushrooms
The magic mushrooms by the shed...
I hadn't tried them until now.
A fairy tempted me with toasted bread,
then nothing seemed the same somehow.
At any rate, dad's raspberry canes
I saw were ramps of dandelions,
were lits for piss - en -lits,
bedwetting swains - crabs and other crawling scions.
while on the yellow duvet sat
a gecko of a cheerful aspect
who kissed a pink and slinky bat
in fancy dress from Bats Direct.
And in the hawthorn overhead
a top bunk-lit for peeing-in,
which as I wrote became instead
a jester with a world-wide grin.