Layers of us

@me.mum...
why - what - how
is normal when to stop
or not where to go,
where to go from the inside out without
debt or doubt or
ancestral footprint?

Joe Mole

Joe Mole

Marnhull Danny 1974

His eyes were luminous steel blue, alive

with twinkling shards of mischievous fun.

His face, a weathered map of his long life:

brown and crumpled, carved by clean air and sun.

A grubby khaki flat-cap, jauntily askew,

bedraggled grey-green ancient jacket

secured with hairy binder-twine (calves too),

brown dungarees, muddy boots and thumb-stick.

His gruesome work was in grazing meadows

under attack from an invasion beneath

of unwelcome little furry fellows

destined to perish between steel-sprung teeth.

Tiny corpses hung in a row (job done)

on barbed wire like Joe met at Verdun.

(A Danny was the name given to any man from the village of Marnhull in Dorset. The word was in common use locally during the 1970’s but is now rarely heard.)

***

14 lines (FBRSO)

Craig Andrew White 02/0711

The Dairy x.

Born of Barrows blood and Acorn goodness:

Honest as nature and prodigious as her harvest.

The pain of creation softened by canine affectation.

And Folk.

Evolution by Narcissus

Cunling,

by a. Danny

xxx

Obsessive Narcissus

(evolution)

Signifier fascination;

(of the)

linguistic mechanism.

Ambivalent meaning

(human deceiving) of

progressive intellectualism.

Evolution as the given,

(inevitability)

ensures enduring humanity.

(thus)

Assimilation,

twix language and descent,

(through an inevitable genetical precedent),

to an earthly femininity!

Crage

The Tummy Cat
The identical white headstones, aligned with mathematical precision, swept ahead of her, a geometrical tide of mechanical slaughter. She had walked up the small hill, through a tilting meadow that oozed the heavy perfume of a sweltering summers day, a clogging sweetness that rose, entwined and entranced from the rainbow of colours scattered across the shimmering straw-green grass. The massed choir of grasshoppers, bees and other assorted insects had serenaded her every step, a buzzing rustling and clicking cacophony of sound that played to the rhythm of her laboured footsteps. As she reached the brow of the hill the pain reminded her of his presence, her tummy cat had his claws out. They covered the entire hilltop, eight thousand four hundred and twenty four same date-stamped tragedies shining brilliant white. A grotesque hedgehog sculpture of wasted youth. She felt at ease, a warm blanket of understanding enveloped her as she hunted for her great-granddaddy.

Damaged Artist - Woman of Power - WOP

Medium Rare

She glances demurely at the poinsettia, whilst gathering her pernicious intuition, assessing the situation and opportunities like a google beta-app on her new laptop. She enjoyed all forms of pain, even the exquisite slowness of arid botanical suffocation. She decides. An angel-writing with the delightful fair trade pencils and superior Basildon Bond, followed by a traditional Tarot - her deftness of folding the cards into a series of, feigned, utter randomness an art form.

The desperate believer sits before her, clutching her psychologically engineered business card and wearing his pitiful hope like a cloak of drowned kittens. She sees it all.

Clutching the cheap silver trinket, fabricated as Celtic adornment with cryptic symbolism, she pretends it is endowed with the priceless optimism of love. Despite the emotional ramparts, constructed with dye, disorientating herbs and a mask of grain and grape, this bit always made her queasy. It made her feel like a noise that had a tangible negative substance, especially when it was about their mummy.

A shard of memory, invariably, arrives. A dusty, ' Dear God, DUSTY', radio still delivering 'by medium wave - ho hum',she thinks, the home service to an unappreciative mummy.

Faith

Perhaps, one day, the lack of faith of the faithful faithless, will become the faith of the faithful?