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jo spencer Sep 2013
The montage of faces
from all corners of the globe,
new tounges, thoughtful eyes.
A generation safe from past
strains of inhumanity.
There's no hobsons choice
only permanent reinvention.
The glory to be who you wish
the edifying  gift bestowed
from England the hub of the free
jo spencer Sep 2013
It is better to bark at the moon
than let speechlessness seep  through the void.
Until the premise of the voyage is replete
can we know the cosmos
sayeth the wise on a chagrin of a day.
Clod and ash will be our bane
and only the heralded will remain,
two feet standing rather than
crawling, tantamount to recidivism.
jo spencer Sep 2013
Arise by any other means
scripts are for the turning.
Into the shadowlands of performance they infuse,
oblivious to the countenance thus incurred.
Silent stillness - the hush of curtains
fortitude stumbles yet remains
like any other egress  
an unpredictable profession.
jo spencer Sep 2013
garlands on the beach,
togas like walk way gables,
gaze back expectantly
for our return.
Celestial anglers catch loaves from the shore
and the limelight wash delinates
the patience of man the fallen shadow.
jo spencer Sep 2013
They brace the moonlight with forgotten words
and follow broken trails
as if on a reconnaissance
to St Peters gate,
where they would be earnestly brushed away
without so much as a shed tear.
They feast on wild boar
and laugh into their mead,  
those intrepid souls
without so much as a purpose,
render themselves to the dying winds.
jo spencer Aug 2013
I was told the Isle of Wight
was like going back twenty years in time.
The Red Funnel ferry took us
to this enchanted island,
described as England in miniature.
There was this relaxed feel
of people not pushing for the burn,
extending to the mannered staff
at Osborne House,
who couldn't be more helpful
and the Waitrose counter girl
providing the creme de creme
of friendliness.
The chief steward of the ferry
lifted our spirits
I vowed to Vectis to return.
jo spencer Aug 2013
A breeze on Sunday morning
then gushes the rain,
under canopy of a tree
waiting for a bus,
hardly a soul around,
way before the church brigade.
I feel such weekend days serves us as being most ubiquitous,
freedom of movement
giving credit that most people are good -
flagship thoughts as clear as  Adams first steps.
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