"hovel" poems
She was an evil stepmother.
In her old age she is slowly dying
in an empty hovel.
She shudders
like a clutch of burnt paper.
She does not remember that she was evil.
But she knows
that she feels cold.
11.5k
I awaken once more.
The loneliness of my mountain hovel a constant.
The walls embrace me in their warm silence.
The wind blows around me.
My container a bubble of stillness
Perched upon stone and earth.
With too many stories for one lifetime.
If you blink the bubble pops,
Shattering the illusion of safety and solitude.
In a second blink the perch is gone,
There is now an ocean.
Six blinks ago there was nothing.
For now i'm in between a blink and a dream,
Struggling to make sense of things
in a world where nobody closes their eyes.
Where creatures assign meaning to the meaningless.
I close my eyes.
The mind as real a world as any.
Where thoughts bring me warmth and
I listen...
Above the dull hum of electricity...
Above the whir of fans
Above the sounds of distant people whose purpose escapes me
Above the screaming of the cold wind...
Above the sirens of troubled folk...
Silence.
An inner silence.
I lie motionless
Observing.
I stare into infinity.
I open my eyes and stare into another.
My heart marks time to a third.
With this i'm reminded of my luck.
What a perspective I'm allowed!
From here alone I bare witness to three infinities.
Among these I die endlessly,
and am born again.
I smile at the thought of myself smiling,
Living lifetimes between breaths.
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 6:44 PM UTC
A handy Mole who plied no shovel
To excavate his vaulted hovel,
While hard at work met in mid-furrow
An Earthworm boring out his burrow.
Our Mole had dined and must grow thinner
Before he gulped a second dinner,
And on no other terms cared he
To meet a worm of low degree.
The Mole turned on his blindest eye
Passing that base mechanic by;
The Worm entrenched in actual blindness
Ignored or kindness or unkindness;
Each wrought his own exclusive tunnel
To reach his own exclusive funnel.
A plough its flawless track pursuing
Involved them in one common ruin.
Where now the mine and countermine,
The dined-on and the one to dine?
The impartial ploughshare of extinction
Annulled them all without distinction.
5k
jamie taught us salt,
nigella, the art of the beef stew
cake boss, the art of chocolate fondant,
the mafia
so rich and chewy
mafia,
the true american dream
richness and trophies and abraham
the mob engulfs the flames of life.
Nigel asleep in his room
sound, it wakes him
Nigel, he says
remember the naked chef
remember him
forever
Nigel goes downstairs
pours a glass of milk
grabs a cupcake
one boxed
he cries a tear of shame
as he remembers
Jamie Oliver
his queen
his Kingsley
his Oakley
his larry
his life
was a box of chocolate
he grabbed the caramel
but was greedy and seized the brie also
it was a sad day
as Nigel fell
off the cliff of life
into a hovel of doom...
the mob,
Nigel,
all attached
no way out
Brie
Jan 22, 2013
Jan 22, 2013 at 8:46 PM UTC
Is it my priestly duty
to be denied?
love—time and all else, at all cost!
while he went home alone to watch a movie?
Another victim
sacrificed
having squandered all my pieces in his game?
Trudging home
along the river
slow, in snow
I parse my losses
At the outskirts of a homeless camp
I pause below a viaduct
hauling passion by a leash
warming hands
avoiding hovel-eyes
Flames flicker on our faces
receiving absolution over embers
of a burning embrace
There trace
in glowing holocaust of skids
in human bleatings and crumblings
our smoke rises— pure obscure
Appease with boozy-blur
the icy, stinging God of winter stars...
G’nights inaudible as blessing
Am I derelict enough to be worthy?
Fallen far enough?
from the porches of prosperity?
to escape it all?
That wedding white
the newborn’s head
that numbing denial of decay?
Am I depraved enough to make it?
to the pages of your tragedy— minus poetry?
But the angel said
“The poetry’s more!”
Than leaving me—beyond you
...in the shambles of my words
Dec 8, 2016
Dec 8, 2016 at 10:16 PM UTC
a hole
void of light
dwelling in hellish mental wells
with no fight, flight or rational
weeeeelllllll,
.....
oh well....
man,
acclimated to dirt ceilings/sealings,
and
unless stars are aligned
will be born dead before found alive
roots from life
hang over head,
..
**** em..
..
just empty promises
from another dead
so,
sit in solitude
a solemn wreck
show helping hands,
real neglect
to uncover this hovel.?
no shovel will do
even
a sympathy symphony
wont let light shine through
Empower.
manifest mountain-tops
from bottom rocks-once-kicked
blossom bottle-rock-ets
from sticks, stones,
and,
thoughts of home
illuminate
cold dismal walls
elucidate
ambitious calls
burst forth reborn
alter the skyline
with mind
refined
you can do anything
you put your mind to
look in the mirror
say im just tryna find you
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 12:10 PM UTC
No matter how many pills
No matter how strong
No matter the cocktail of meds
I can't seem to be who they want.
I can't be the ideal human
I can't be that model of society
I can't bring myself to swallow their rules
I can't stand up and swallow their pills any longer
I know what they want from me
I know how they want me
I know what everyone wants
Everyone but me
You know what its like
Depression dragging behind you all day
The psychopath in you screaming to gain reigns
The crazy illusions as schizophrenia settles in
The lack of anything as the sociopath wraps you in a blanket
The madness that you've grown to love
As it all slowly takes you your handed a cup with a pill
It is the cage to keep your mind as it is alive
It lets you step outside the hovel of your mind
And lock all those memories and screaming away
A new you
Is it really you anymore
Our reason is based upon who we've grown up as
Why can't we think how we were made too
Why are we to blame when we didn't raise ourselves
The key to your mind was and will never be the pills
The medicine is just a cage to mold you how they want us
The key to our happiness is and will always be ourselves
Its in all of our minds
That sickening depression do what relieves it
The psychopathic beast inside unleash it
The schizophrenic visions embrace them
The lack of humanity that blankets your mind
Let yourself do as your supposed
No one in this world can make you happy all the time
No one but ourselves
We are our own master of mind.
If reason doesn't suit you release it.
Madness is like a comforter when you wake up on a cold day
It will keep you happy and healthy
Accept the medicine if you want reality
If reality even with the cage isn't comfortable come with me
Dance in the madness of anarchy
Let your mind run free
Let yourself be who you were born to be
Oct 23, 2013
Oct 23, 2013 at 9:04 AM UTC
He wrote in the mornings, she recited to him at night,
He always made breakfast, she made dishes disappear,
His garb was quite frumpy, and hers, made of spun gold,
He struggled with fashion, song birds would dress her,
He thought his poems looked best in moving candlelight,
She made all the fires and lit candles with her eyes.
Once, he was embarrassed and said to her,
'How can you live like this with me in a hovel?'
She said it reminded her of Plato's Cave.
At readings he looked out and saw sinking eyes,
Now he has her read all his poems, it works
Wonders that way, and after-parties are strange,
Everyone keeps staring and asking for her
Name. She gives cryptic answers and winks
At him. The poet was running out of words
And thought his days with her were waning.
But she said her heart was kept in a precious
Box of symbols, of words, only he could write.
She said that it was written in the sky, that poetry
Was dying and that he was the cure. He told
Her that the stars were lost at night, and fading
While she sparkled unfailing, and many times
They tasted each others tears, many times
The world stopped spinning, he knew
It was her, she felt it was him. To all
Others, their one bedroom flat was small,
Yet to them, it was the Palace Athene.
Jun 12, 2012
Jun 12, 2012 at 9:22 PM UTC
I was an idiot back then,
those trips to Rebekah's hovel.
though they did make me sentimental,
for the days when her dad had taught me guitar
for eight weeks when I was thirteen.
she told me of a suicide dream
that utilized her iron deficiency.
I told her I would tell her parents
if she started pushing it in motion,
that made her cry,
though in retrospect, I wanted her to die.
I was at that misery factory age
when your heart pumps nothing
but razorblades and jealousy,
and the death of some overly-depressed
girl would at least give me a story to
tell.
I was a pseudo-lover,
writing page upon page
of poetry for Sheila,
I used an alias for her:
"Nature's Criminal".
It felt appropriate.
what she did to my
emotions seemed rather
unnatural.
we would kiss on dark, dirt roads,
and duck when cars would passby.
she would always preface
our encounters with,
"remember this doesn't mean anything."
now, Rebekah only writes to tell
of artists signed to Saddle Creek.
she got married to some diabetic,
acne-marred, sex-fiend that
bares the burden of a pet peeve
that revolves around bananas.
now, I only see Sheila,
when some boy is ********** her,
when she feels beyond used.
in her parasitic apartment,
I always remind her
they don't mean anything.
Dec 22, 2010
Dec 22, 2010 at 8:35 AM UTC
Am a Templar Knight whose allegiance is to Our Lord Jesus Christ
Sir Thomas de Charney is my name, Master of the fortress in Gaza
Was compelled to quill an account of an assault on the town of Ludd
My heart was also dazed and enamored by a young woman evermore
We left Gaza late in the day; I took 40 of my best knights with me
Fully clad in mail and helmets, we dashed long swords in scabbards
Short swords made at the ready to perlustrate with a days provisions
We headed east prepared to do battle, for God and for the cause
We approached Ludd; saw billowing smoke; heard strangled screams
I dispatched 35 knights throughout the municipality in groups of 5 each
My orders were; execute requisite to save townspeople from slaughter
An appurtenance to the initial order: no parley with these infidels
Before dismissing my men, I saw smolder swell left flank of the border
Saw a hovel, the thatch was burning out of control and spreading apace
Around the corner were three enemy soldiers crowding over someone
Until the last few years, I knew not what **** was; the worst in a man
Despite noise of city under siege, these ******** were intoxicated in sin
The remaining five knights accompanied me and covered the perimeter
I dismounted Petra, clutched the hilt of my long sword, made approach
The three heathen sensed my bearing and turned to meet their death
Then I saw her face and was transfixed
I would yield no prisoners
Today there would be justice for this woman
I pray for swiftness of divine retribution
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
To be continued…………
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dec 29, 2014
Dec 29, 2014 at 1:54 PM UTC
Diwali is here
Lights and colour everywhere
A boom and a bang
gifts and joys to share
Little girls and little boys
Dancing around with joy
Watching them from a distance
Was the little shoe shine boy
With his grubby hands and tattered wear
Black lined face and ***** hair
All he wanted was a little toy
But who would share with a poor shoe shine boy
His mother sewed clothes
Father, he had none
His house was a hovel
Clothes he had but one
His stomach growled
Hunger gnawing at the pit
looked at the rich people eating
And Shuffled his feet
The car door opened
He was called aloud
His heart froze and trembled
Wer they to shout?
They gave a 20 rupee note
smiled and said "No shoe to shine".
The lil boy stared and thought
"Is this a dream of mine?"
So with his bag, brush and ***** rag
Leapt the lil boy high in the air
His happiness knew no bounds
He had his joy to share
Ran to his home, to the little tattered hut
Forgetting about hunger and toy
He walked in a rich man
That happy little shoe shine boy!
Oct 19, 2017
Oct 19, 2017 at 7:42 AM UTC
Work your fingers raw for a pittance
and you wish one day to bid good riddance
to your destiny,
good riddance to your destiny
Looking up you see them grinning down
but ask why they keep winning
and they'll label you the enemy
they'll label you the enemy
So you've got three kids and you're ******
because your salary's been cut
and you're burning up the furniture
you're burning up the furniture
Well they can trace their ****** blood generations
and their current lordly station
is their holy primogeniture
it's their holy primogeniture
You can sing and dance apologise and grovel
You can mark your x and **** off to the hovel
that you'll never own
the hovel that you'll never own
Meanwhile they will never leave the school
that tells them they are born to rule
till we vote the buggers on the throne
we vote the buggers on the throne
This land ain't your land
this land ain't my land
not the Glasgow dockyard
nor the empty Highland
this land is their land
it's bleed you dry land
and you'll be laid to rest here
beneath the wonder why land.
Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 2:47 PM UTC
" i always wondered if fish drooled ? " she said... and left it there like a cartoon tumbleweed, caked in glitter and sprite phlegm. she stood across an ocean on an island of outlandish abandonment, where all the mirrors crack. her passing quakes the stain off her daily betrothal
to a toothless bigot in the land of freedom's end in the hovel of her heart's fall from appointed grace. a place of a thousand cuts and no car. waaaay out in the country of her diminished affections, her eyes could be seen wandering the burnt out villa of her lost love, where she recalls the fairy rings piercing her lips and the trembling of her youth, finding a slow hand to explore the wet *** without peril, soaring with her palm, plastered to a feathered bed in a guest room, in a time-share.
grampa sleep. and bird's nest pitch black.
" i always wondered if fish drooled ? " she said... she slept through it... on to the next disconnect to get intimate with. she left me there, like a chocolate mint resting on a pillow made of shards of habitual flagellation by candle light and instinct; resting on a bed of nails rusting
in the flood plain of her fondest wish.
she left me there
to conspire with her better demons, to witness - the benign desperation of her frenzied exploration
of actual actualization... to watch her ****** from the jaws of a dire wolf,
her bleeding heart and her ransom.
with her bare teeth and a naked
Truth.
you should have seen her face.
i tattooed her secrets on the iris of a blind ghost, i swore it " abide in her broken heart like an open door with a cool breeze slinking through the fetid air of her self defeat and stale bread bumble bees.
and to abide by her rules
when she finds them... then to ghostly fall
upon his ghost sword by midnight
with a smile that tells hell it cannot claim what rises.
a smile that spat at the devil and pitied his children.
a ghost smile that stole a book from a museum
and never told his other
books why.
May 12, 2013
May 12, 2013 at 5:07 AM UTC
I am a sloth,
lounging upon the thick and heavy branch
of a sole, lonely tree.
But where my friends
nibble on their vegetarian diet,
shielded from the harshly perky sun,
this tree buds no leaves
to fall and die, coloring autumn,
or to blossom flowers, fruit of spring,
and instead of relaxing
in a canopy of paradise,
a hovel of food galore,
I'm stuck here wilting
beneath the fiery sun,
starving.
The emerald banquet
is just in sight,
probably only fifteen feet away.
My arms
are strong enough to swing
from this branch to the next,
And my legs are just as swift
as those **** koalas
everyone loves so much.
With a little determination
and patience,
I'm sure I could get there.
And yet I'm rather fond of this tree..
Who am I kidding?
I'm really too lazy to care.
Oct 17, 2013
Oct 17, 2013 at 2:58 PM UTC
Give me the shelter of your warm embrace
Let it unfurl and cover me like the wings of an angel
For its only in such moments that i feel safe
Give me the affable comfort of your light
Let those rays pierce through me and chase away the dark
For its only in such moments that i feel at peace.
You've turned my forsaken shack into a gleaming sanctuary
And given me a hideout that I can turn to when stormy clouds arise
You've turned my hollow hovel into a glowing hearth
And given me a a place of refuge that I can retire to when I am weary
Let me retreat into you once again
There I will dwell
And return to a place that I know so well
Jul 27, 2020
Jul 27, 2020 at 10:41 AM UTC
Have you been to Jerusalem, my friend?
Have you?
I must go there -
For I saw her in a dream there,
kneeling before the altar,
and smiling:
that same smile that lit my hovel
and made it a home;
And she vanished
into the smoke that night,
never found, never found!
She was the river that dried up
in the barren desert of my life.
But I saw her, I saw her,
she lives in Jerusalem.
Tell me, friend, have you been there?
How do I go there?
Dec 22, 2012
Dec 22, 2012 at 11:52 AM UTC
i
the neighbours like to shout
while the sun come´ s out
lily is off her pretty head
to the sky dangles thread
soft she spake no doubt
how did this come about
lifted shyly off her bed
and to an alien wed
(they resembled trout
that fetching pout..)
so i was duly bled
and impregnated
soon a mewling brat
star blown and stout
multi eye and headed
plasma fed..
saviour of the planet..!
born to poet..
born to lead
man is saved..!
ii
well the world is in a pretty
pickle
if waiting for her alien love
chile
the sun has gone in
awhile
the sunday sea continues
a smile
hovers upon her red
lip..
iii
lily a dream
cast her leaden
glance sky
wards..
lily takes from
her sleeve
her treasured
cards..
a **** on her
******
and she´ s set
on ward..!
the future
laid bare
a seer
a bird
a bard
her face
drops
bad..?
bad..
these strange
recollections
inducing
sad
reflections
caste one forth
to endless
circle-
mad..
nothing about
strange
that
but this
my god
free heart..
and the majestic
lady..
buttercups
to
her eyes
what is it..
nothing good
a wild wood
any black
blood
now this card
is usually benign
the goblets of
wine not poison
but swamp
and sunk
and choked
seems clear
not here
a hovel
and a grey
evoked
still trees and
stiller eye
there is dark
that walk
abroad
behind and
away soon
cries like
a unique
word
and yes
black coagulation
while meek
and there
struggle losing
purr
if we knew
the end
or even
this card
and this one
so little
cur
normally
a staunch
friend
souls want..!
you will get
what you deserve
this skull says
crafty devilry..!
another cooling goblet..
lily..a strong pull..
upon
the
pipe
of
love..
Nov 24, 2018
Nov 24, 2018 at 9:40 AM UTC
Deep where the Sun lies
flies, and then in its parade dies
into the dark under mass
the cloaked ritual of time
that hovers upon the boundaries
the songs of the ages.
Where glint to eye
that inward sigh, the cry
that tormented deep holds its bar
far, upon the trilogy of the lost
Gods that made and paid the cost
of frequent flier miles.
Shadows creep, leap
where the distinction arises
surprises the mornings jolt
that rides the long encounter
where cold the steel bears the fascination
of the chambered game
twirling, revolving, frame by frame
where the poker hand falls to the colt.
Triggered, offset,
the bang of the aeons arises, surprises
and dropping like the shadow he was
the smoking barrel
the drawn out look
pages from a tormented novel
that lay in a hovel
there on the floor.
Alisdaire O'Caoimph
Apr 10, 2011
Apr 10, 2011 at 10:03 AM UTC
Rapidly beating
your heart against my ear
as Han Solo's son
rammed a lightsaber
through his chest
I could hear
the beat-beat-beat
reverberating through
layers of blanket, cloth, and skin
sitting next to you
on the couch
thumping loudly and steady
without fear
so let's begin
on a star searched journey
where the spaceships hovel
and the robots swivel
in a galaxy not that
far away from reality
it's like swallowing starlight
or slicing through dark trees
heavy with snow
hearing them crack-crack-crack
from a buzzing vibration
of the blue lightsaber at hand
watching the trees crash, then
clash against red
a struggle unsaid
but when I rested my head
against your slight frame
something within me
melted.
(I guess my heart was tamed.)
Jan 20, 2017
Jan 20, 2017 at 2:44 PM UTC
I played and was betrayed for a pittance
Stayed in the parade out of persistence
Gave up all charades of any resistance
This is how I earned my own existence
By selling myself by shelling my soul
One inch of survival a day for no self determination
One loaf of bread to let them make me hollow
One stream of **** to shovel from this hovel
I prayed for redemption stayed in this place
Strayed from my potential to maintain my space
Let them flay me alive till my empathy was displaced
And I became a clone of their perfect human race
Just a shadow self of everyone else with no voice
And no real face
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 10:13 AM UTC
An elderly priest
sits on the dilapidated
stair to his hovel
Contemplating once again
the stinger he delivered
in his Sunday sermon.
An attempt to strike a note
of serious consideration of
the consequences
of sinning to his
congregation.
And yet, as he leans with
his gnarled hands upon his
walking stick,
He can not help but
smile at the wicked joy
he witnesses as a
Drunken Santa Claus and
a skimpily clad **********
weave their way past
him down the
cobbled lane.
Oct 1, 2011
Oct 1, 2011 at 12:05 PM UTC
We are drinking over the sea, under the sky
Oh, no magic while I'm gone
It is what it is
It was what it was
Are you drunk enough to say I love you?
Trying to escape from them
And have some fun with one-day friends
He says "I will take you home"
But I want to be free
I'm tired of captivity
I was searching for you so long. Only for you
You could take me anywhere you want
And I know that you will take me where there is people and merry-making
Take me there, shining here
We are drinking over the sea, under the sky
Oh, no magic while I'm gone
It is what it is
It was what it was
Are you drunk enough to say I love you?
Do you wanna be my savior tonight?
Save me from my mad papi
Naughtiness is our queen
We don't want to get bored never and ever
We are drinking over the sea, under the sky
Oh, no magic while I'm gone
It is what it is
It was what it was
Are you drunk enough to say I love you?
Today we will get drunk in the old bar
Tomorrow in the lonely hovel
Let's start everything from the start
Today we will get drunk in the old bar
Tomorrow in the lonely hovel
Today we will get drunk in the old bar
Tomorrow in the lonely hovel
Let's start everything from the start
Today we will get drunk in the old bar
Tomorrow in the lonely hovel
We are drinking over the sea, under the sky
Oh, no magic while I'm gone
It is what it is
It was what it was
Are you drunk enough to say I love you?
We are drinking over the sea, under the sky
Oh, no magic while I'm gone
It is what it is
It was what it was
Are you drunk enough to say I love you?
Jan 5, 2014
Jan 5, 2014 at 8:38 AM UTC
Tales of the Texas Rangers:
The Legend of Tom Brady’s Shirt
Texas is rich with tales of old
Heroes, villains, San Saba’s gold
Once Aztecs ruled our shores and bays
And Tejas roamed the forest ways
Here in this sunburnt arid land
Comanches bold made their last stand
Karankawas, Apaches too -
All sorts of tales, and mostly true
Nueva Espana, then Mexico
Rebellion and the Alamo
But the strangest tale, we now assert
Is the mystery of Tom Brady’s shirt
Missing it is, after the game
Who is the thief? Who is to blame?
Dan Patrick, the lieutenant-guv
He swore by all the stars above
And most of all by that one Star
That’s flown in every saloon and bar
He’d catch that creep, and make him hurt
Whoever pinched Tom Brady’s shirt
So in this time of ******* danger
He called upon each Texas Ranger
His voice was low, but cold as steel:
“Y’all brang that mangy cur to heel;
Load your weapons, and saddle up!”
Each Ranger answered with a “Yup.”
All Rangers, now, be on alert:
Somebody rustled Tom Brady’s shirt
Every Texan expects your best
(Tom Brady is our honored guest)
He can’t go home in just his jeans
So find his jersey, by any means
Remember - not a blouse or skirt;
You’re looking for the poor man’s shirt
That’s why you Rangers are paid so much -
Search every ****** and hovel and hutch
Somewhere under the Texas skies
An outlaw hides, and probably cries
He shamed his state and he shamed his mama
And the only end to all this drama
Will come upon him like wind and dust
And a voice will command (with great disgust)
“Stand and deliver, you ugly varmint!
Hold up your hands, and drop that garment!”
“Oh, Texas Ranger, tell me true:
How did you find me? I feel so blue!”
And the Ranger will sing softly:
“The shirt of a stranger is upon you…”1
y colorín, colorado y este cuento se ha acabado, y’all
1Apologies to Chuck Norris
Feb 8, 2017
Feb 8, 2017 at 9:01 PM UTC
Passing a property I felt compelled to the gate
something had drawn me to stop!
An irresistible urge to go inside the property
having to bang on the red door.
Waiting unable to move from the spot
on that nice day I was cold not hot!
I tried to move how I wanted to run
but my body wouldn't move!
The screams were trapped in my throat
why was I frozen here?
Shuffling noises from within approached
as my space was encroached!
I could now hardly breath as the door opened
a wrinkled old woman stared.
With deep black sunken eyes that glared
the pierced your soul!
As my body was drawn into the room
nearby was a witches broom!
Then it turned into a grim putrid hovel
as other witches appeared!
I lost consciousness at that very moment
waking up on a lino floor.
A middle aged lady staring down at me
as I looked up embarrassingly!
Helping me to a comfortable armchair
she told me I was not the first.
Who had been drawn to her front door
on this spot once it was said.
An evil witches coven had been found
but was burnt to the ground!
Seven witches were caught and put on trial
by the frightened villagers!
And here where the place now stands
they were burnt at the stake!
Saying they cursed the villagers evermore
descendants would knock the door!
As they alone would detect the witches call
realising I was caught here.
My mum gave me a locket I had to wear
said never take it off.
Unless I was compelled into a dwelling
and this story a lady telling!
Only then should I open the hinged locket
that contained the ashes!
Of the seven that died throw them it's face
then run and not look back!
I did as I was told running until I was tired
so long as now I'm retired!
It was a big story in that town I use to live
a mystery fire had caused.
The destruction of the historical cottage
it was never solved.
But I gather there was no more trouble
a locket was found in the rubble!
The Foureyed Poet.
Jan 21, 2012
Jan 21, 2012 at 11:01 PM UTC