~NostalgiaOfMud
Old Greg
Newest
Stone AngelStudland, Dorset.Stone Angel
Down a breathing corridor of pagan trees, salt sea breeze, far off shouting from the shore
in the churchyard square,
to the left, beached
among the mastheads of the dead
a finely worked stone angel
with stars, spars and pennants
wheeling round her head
decorates the telling
of an antique tragedy: 1927,
five children
in a tipsy ship
wrestling with the oars
and far off shouting from the shore.
A submissive faced stone angel
earthed beneath a beating sun
where the Mar
by ~NostalgiaOfMud
Long stretchIt’s a long stretch,Long stretch
two thousand years
for incitement with no parole.
Are we all
chastened Eves behind our veils and on our knees?
Should we wait for some frocked prelate to scratch his balls pronounce our fate
or should
we chamfer at the bars
with girly nail files?
Who bearded God? Who roped and tied and codified,
who sexed the incorporeal?
Who gifted God
his monster dick
and used
religion as a stick
to knock us down? It’s a long st
by ~NostalgiaOfMud
Sea SongGulls scream above the treesSea Song
like refugees
keening for the loss of their frenzied northern sea.
They sing to me
of a childhood
under canvas: I hear
zips discreetly loosened in the night and my parent’s
sticky whispers: I smell
the vinegar of shared latrines and kerosene
hissing in the awning: I hear
flood warnings leaking through the static on our portable t.v. and the banshee
of the sea and the answering song in me.
Gulls wheel
above the trees &nbs
by ~NostalgiaOfMud
Favourites
No-one forgets a good teacher"Listen to me or I'll break your legs" - Steve ThompsonNo-one forgets a good teacher
Dear Sir. Not sir. It's automatic. Sorry Steve. Dear Steve. I'm fed On seven years of autocratic Tiffinisms: "genuflect to teachers." Seven years' emphatic Faire-sans-dire still in my head. Dear Steve. Your style was more dramatic y
by ~LazyLinePainterJohn
The Dress She WearsThe Dress She WearsThe Dress She Wears
It rides the slow curve of her hips pulls tight against them as she walks her gait confined to conscious steps. Not long enough to be lady-like, too long to be whorish, it falls heavily over tired thighs, licking the tops of her knees. The neckline plunges. A greedy vice, it squeezes the bulk of her heavy breasts up until they spill out for all to see. Its coarse and jealous-green fabric
scratches her most delicate places rubbing them raw, I know, until her skin weeps a salty pink. Made before we were bor
by ~sculptorchic
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--
You may be right
I may be crazy
But it just may be a lunatic you're looking for
Turn out the light
Don't try to save me
You may be wrong for all I know
But you may be right
--
~I want to walk in the snow and not leave a footprint~
--
It seems a fantastic paradox, but it is nevertheless a most important truth, that no architecture can be truly noble which is not imperfect.
--
"Oh, come on. You heard them, just behind the veil, didn’t you? They were just lurking out of sight, that’s all. You heard them."—Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix (Luna Lovegood)
--
"Rules are made to be broken! And if not people are"
--
They called me mad, I called them mad and dam them, they outvoted me.
--
Ed
"If you're not confused, you're misinformed." - Tom Clancy
The Trouble with a Love Poem
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