Painting by Judy Sprano |
I hide well
above brackish water
in a brick bridge house
with ivied smoking chimney
in the English Lakes District
alone with my crowd of fire stoking psychosis
slurping rural textured walls with my muse
spanning the salty inlet
of my disguise.
I’ve substituted
the infusion of brandishing toxins of “The Dream,”
now filtered
through my hideaway of bridge dwelling bohemianism ,
and eke an existence
to stop the world from tattooing
“sucker” on my arse.
And I speak prose into existence
in the English Lakes district,
alone with my selves
9 comments:
Henry, This is interesting. As I read, I try to envision the narrator, troll? human? madman? The piece tells a story, and I'm glad he's kept his behind his own.
~Brenda
Holy Cow, Henry! This is really good and such excellent use of the words.
Pamela
Very clever, Henry. The poem tells quite a story in a 'crazy' sort of way! Here's mine with the same words: http://inthecornerofmyeye.blogspot.com/2011/05/rural-life.html
This is clever, funny and profound. Love it. The watercolour is beautiful.
The poem itself seems like a filtered dream; I'm very curious about the selves, that crowd.
Richard
Love the painting, and the poem made me wonder about the narrator and chuckle at the picture it described, all at once. Great take on the wordle. :)
The world does try to tattoo us whenever it can, doesn't it? I like the twisty tale you've spun from the words, and the image of the narrator at work in his brick bridge house alone with his selves.
Too late for me ... I've got the sucker tattoo to prove it! You've woven quite a tale here, Henry, using those rather difficult wordle words. Well done!
Interesting poems, read it a couple time. love the painting too
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