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...
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...
extract from the poem Koi by John Burnside All afternoon we've wandered from the pool to alpine beds and roses ...
What makes us suppose that only the living grieve? Now all but lost in this new and familiar world of tall, leaning-together buildings...
A Birthday in April ~ Wordsworth Prompt from The Imaginary Garden with Real Toads (The first of three posts which will celebrate the l...
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.