Paint me another red balloon please, Mr Banksy paint it with a longer string and tie it around my wrist so that it won’t escape from my little fingers and float into the sky to become a tiny dot that disappears forever; and please Mr Banksy don’t paint the wind, let it be still so that my hair doesn’t cover my eyes and my dress doesn’t flap around my knees and if the string becomes undone my new balloon won’t blow away. Continue reading Please, Mr Banksy
The silence, Meaning only nature, Cooing, Chirping, Twittering. The coolness of shortening shadows, The freshness of the awakening Spring, Breathe deep, The smell of the season’s flora, As the neighbourhood slumbers, As we, Early morning walk. It could be a Monday, Or a Thursday, Or any week day, In these days of different ways, But no, It is Sunday, And still it feels, Unlike the others. No church bells chime, No calling clang, But it is too soon, As, Early morning we walk. But even if later, The church bells are dumb, Redundant, Furloughed, Until a time to ring out, … Continue reading Early Morning We Walk
From Bristol to Brighton & Bach 