.
Photography shows the truth
Art shows the soul.

On a board
carved
carved into slices.

My story
sliced
sliced into sound bites
my eulogy.

How grey the slippery pathways lie
on days like this when affluent rain
falls heavy on the thirsty land.

See how the  watery rays of  light
turned silver plated in the mist
reflect upon the heath topped hills
which dip their feet in shining seas
where  silk white stallions dance.

Listen to the  keening winds
as lanyards tap and squawking gulls
skim low across the paynes grey waves.

.
A forlorn place
where nettles bend
and in their court
still wet with rain
from crying clouds
its wrapping torn
the colours bleached
its petals bowed, translucent now
in shades of pastel grey.

.



A petticoat Government

of candyfloss pirates

waxing exultant

and careless in diction

with heavy brogue accent

its speaking displeases

assaulting the ear.

FULL CIRCLE



Grey smoke from chimneys
staining the brick work
of back to back houses
where washing hangs limply
on string over alleys.

Grubby faced children
skipping on cobbles
sitting on doorsteps
waiting for fathers
in pits down below.

Fathers emerging
black faced and weary
straight to the bath tub
as coals in the boilers
send grey smoke from chimneys.

Chasing squawking circling gulls
the swirling sparks in drifts of wind
sweep wide across the white drained sand
where isolated pools now lie
like blackened clothing idly cast
beneath the salted wood stained air.

With daylight draining from the west
the days veneer of footprints left
are  washed away by inward tide
in complex hours of twilight sky
as ashes slowly drift.