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. returning to my childhood home in thought returning   to mallard quacks tolling and the hour toiled                                                         by ever thirsty church bells cold damp rock house with ammonites and belemnites coiling in the walls and a cooling ichthyosaur                                   futilely trying to swim in the silty soil struggling to catch prey                                             beneath the foundation             its darkness is rummage . a flush lawn  planted nilly and obscene   monkshood  mint  cotton grass and ling warm mentions  an evening fire                                        and the family room i'm mooding through the memory                              and it grooms apart  organic birthing  not  river  not  smoke rat sized earwigs take to the air heat over the boiling tar garage roof and i return home back through time child swinging on thick vines suspended by the yew over the stream               the willows dapple and paddle the fir trees return                                           fierce sproutings of involving shade ridding the house                          of the intruder new extension                 riding time back                     and the caravan my parents                                       would later park on concrete                              is swallowed the storms of a bad year return the old wall at the property edge and the cottage reforms an ancient pace                           with its surroundings . it's no longer my families claimed place re-seemed with ghoulish history the workhouse returns                                  and files with hard poverty the wall punches through                                in what will be the kitchen and the cottage runs through long      with the neighbours space dormitory takes the whole upstairs length     and the legend of the garment thief drops ghost and rumour to live again and then all this too flees out of history . rushing back through time                                 and this all sinks into the levels swamp life takes over and the ammonites                                        moisten with anticipation prehistory is sprout   to begin .
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Sep 23, 2025
Sep 23, 2025 at 10:08 AM UTC
. . . . s t o n e . c o t t a g e
. returning to my childhood home in thought returning   to mallard quacks tolling and the hour toiled                                                         by ever thirsty church bells cold damp rock house with ammonites and belemnites coiling in the walls and a cooling ichthyosaur                                   futilely trying to swim in the silty soil struggling to catch prey                                             beneath the foundation             its darkness is rummage . a flush lawn  planted nilly and obscene   monkshood  mint  cotton grass and ling warm mentions  an evening fire                                        and the family room i'm mooding through the memory                              and it grooms apart  organic birthing  not  river  not  smoke rat sized earwigs take to the air heat over the boiling tar garage roof and i return home back through time child swinging on thick vines suspended by the yew over the stream               the willows dapple and paddle the fir trees return                                           fierce sproutings of involving shade ridding the house                          of the intruder new extension                 riding time back                     and the caravan my parents                                       would later park on concrete                              is swallowed the storms of a bad year return the old wall at the property edge and the cottage reforms an ancient pace                           with its surroundings . it's no longer my families claimed place re-seemed with ghoulish history the workhouse returns                                  and files with hard poverty the wall punches through                                in what will be the kitchen and the cottage runs through long      with the neighbours space dormitory takes the whole upstairs length     and the legend of the garment thief drops ghost and rumour to live again and then all this too flees out of history . rushing back through time                                 and this all sinks into the levels swamp life takes over and the ammonites                                        moisten with anticipation prehistory is sprout   to begin .
[02/04/25 is the date of early notes. Parish Rash was the title. leave this version for reference : mallard quacks and the hour tolled by church bells/cold damp house  flush lawn  planted obscene/warm memories  an evening fire and family room/i'm mooding through the memory and it grooms apart organic/birthing not river not smoke/earwigs take to the air over the tar garage roof/and i return home back through time/the fir trees return   fierce sprouting  ridding the new extension/that my parents had now still to add/and the caravan my parents would later park on concrete/the storms of one year return the old wall at the property edge/lean it back up and refill in its mortar /and the cottage reforms an ancient peace with its surrounding/it's no longer my families claimed place/reseemed seam seem with ghoulish history]
neth-jones
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Sep 23, 2025
Sep 23, 2025 at 10:08 AM UTC
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