"wainwright" poems
On the side of the country lane a wooden post holds a sign indicating the route of a public footpath. Hardly a mile goes by without passing another one, maybe more. They don't stand out, so common they hardly register as we motor by. Some of us have explored where they lead, others have not.
Some follow hedgerows, ditches; others strike across open fields. Wherever they are, the landowner has a legal obligation to allow free unhindered public access. Growing crops must be cut or sprayed to keep paths clear.
Many of these paths were formed by country folk walking to church, work or market, taking the shortest route across the fields. In 1948 they were recognised and given legal status on the definitive map.
Close to villages the paths are well used. In more remote areas some are barely walked from one year to the next. Even so, they are still legal rights of way.
The celebrated fell wanderer Alfred Wainwright put together his famous Coast to Coast walk by connecting existing rights of way to form a continuous route from the Atlantic to the North Sea, passing through three National Parks.
Almost a kind of accident of history, the footpath network is now a National Treasure.
Feb 22, 2017
Feb 22, 2017 at 3:40 PM UTC
Bright Eyes: Lua
Loudon Wainwright: Motel Blues
Radiohead: No Surprises
Keaton Henson: You don't know how luck you are
Tigers Jaw: Never saw it coming
Fleetwood Mac: Songbird
Paolo Nutini: Candy
... and your laugh
the clearing of your throat
your sharp intakes of breath
the chattering of your teeth in the cold
and the movement of cloth against your skin
Dec 22, 2013
Dec 22, 2013 at 10:55 AM UTC
Shut up and go to bed
Put the pillow under your head
I'm sick and tired of all your worries
Shut up and say goodnight
Say your prayers and turn off the light
I'm sick and tired of all your sob-stories
Shut up and shut your eyes
No more histrionics, no more college tries
Stop pushing, stop shoving, stop straining
Shut your mouth and button your lip
You're a late night faucet that's gotta drip
All you're doing is merely complaining
The excuse that you're crazy is useless
You're not biting you're barking you're toothless
But you're ruthless
Shut up and count some sheep
And do me a favor, don't ***** in your sleep
No more agony, please no more sorrow
Shut up and catch some Zs
Ice cream with a cherry plus a big pretty please
I promise we'll resume tomorrow...Goodnight.
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 3:49 PM UTC
its a cold and broken sky
that shines its light tonight
and the snow on the ground
that slips into the night
My voice cracks my words fall
the floor turns to void
a broken hallelujah escapes
as I disappear beneath their ploy
Mar 26, 2019
Mar 26, 2019 at 8:49 PM UTC
my man is down rod-ken-doll 26.08.18
saturday started like a germ
rodrigo and humour no maybe
hilarious was idea and fake *****
in fits with quote "allot of baby".
at this time on wall no writing
dan was to read a disciplinary
sam smith and white object was inviting
all jumping to conclusion with summary.
my man was to whisper careless
but up-most respect is the can
like a sword fight in chess
no gossip done by roxanne.
kirsty and a woman's intuition
explaining to rodrigo to shut
a bit like nick and boxing edition
the WBA like stock exchange would cut.
now what is forbidden
rodrigo and natlie were detective clever
off his trolley will remain hidden
the true meaning discovered so luck for ever.
nature was broody
no need to beg
did nick deliberately try to bring out moody
suggesting cake and hardeep and the egg.
now a bit of my brother
originally not georges crown
sally misinterpreted cover
no wainwright or hardeep but natlie going to town.
the eggs had no ends
in kitchen still volatile
while boxing in garden between friends
dan and roxanne showed style.
hardeep went to soak
maybe thinking of comedy literature
natalie to to sally did stoke
highlighting all is like theatre.
three getting ready
all glam and glitter to see
natlie and a line now steady
your not on unless next to me.
gabby and chloe on love bubble
at present dignity in tact
no chance of rodrigo holding up trouble
not on tv a *** act.
natlie had the doom
hardeep offered hand
up and out the room
can not with viewers understand.
hardeep very humble
grateful to explain orwellian
gave me a great word to stumble
in love with machiavellian.
before end some hurt
gabby with love not to handle
touching was dan and tshirt
ending with rodrigo going blowing out my candle.
Aug 26, 2018
Aug 26, 2018 at 9:58 AM UTC
(Me slippery fingers slither,
slip and slide splashing ala
Jackson ******* sans slap
dash experimental, swiftly
tailored and harried writing
style, yes on par with purging,
spewing, venting...unexpurgated,
unexpressed, unexplained...
words, which this Engelbert
Humperdinck singer/songwriter,
(whose name inexplicably popped
into the mind of this Dadaist)
offers "FAKE" apology for any
self inflicted, or sadomasochistic
flagellated cranial contusions
out of utter futility to make sense
regarding following gobbledygook!
GOOD LUCK!
Mine groovy palmar flexion creases
forever moistened by porous size
**** leaking levees provoking deluge
outranking Biblical flood - handy history
(in miniature) replete with Ark keel
logical artifacts discovered by hall n
oats marked wainwright - about 10 stone and
5 pound huckster, circa Fin de siècle,
when callous ten hooks (calisthenics,
eh) caught without Noah shadow of a
doubt proof positive by Matthew Scott,
(amat sure his surname) linkedin to storied
testament rivalling epic of Gilgamesh,
nee the entire spoilers alerts since
dawn of civilization writ small impossible
mission to decipher indelibly etched,
(what appear as Egyptian hieroglyphics),
methinks his perspiration contains
preservative agent, (a natural formaldehyde
like substance) generated nsync to maintain
eternal youthfulness, which stumps
medical community, and earned him
hashtagged "hotmail" (eagerly sought
after human commodity), a blessing
and curse palms plagued with chronic
wetness, yet lines (little flushed streams
of consciousness) rowed by itty bitty
teensy weensy merry daydreamers harkens
back when life held faint promise for
scattered (contra) bands of bipedal
hominids fiercely competing with trumpeting
(Taj Mahal sized) beasts (donned tousled
windswept hirsute trademark) Euclid
heir'm barreling along barren steppes
all around the one straggly mulberry bush,
where one pensive monkey (protohuman)
chased the weasel all around the world wide web.
Feb 13, 2019
Feb 13, 2019 at 4:02 PM UTC