Dead Beat Beat

Dead Beat Beat 1968  5am rising to work transistor radio playing, “Hey Jude” Like a heaven-sent something, giving meaning to England. 2017 10am I’m retired, cars pass my house with dead beat beat, coming from super car audio, I feel sick. (Photo used by permission of the bloke with the spotty trousers)

December Man

December man, you who made the silent turn from the Rosemary of youth to the place where exiled hearts sleep. The skies mysterious benediction with heresies of purple. The noon of a dreadful day that knows that January will never come again.

Dry Leaves

Dry leaves on a bed of memories, the way through the woods, footpathsunknown only to us, in dense winding ways of wonder. Vast adrenalin kingdoms were ours, young lives strangely blessed by the writer with the mask, powered naïve non- awareness, before we knew even the shadow of evil. The Trickster’s footsteps echoed even then, …

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Natural aliens

I went to the local supermarket. There were no walkways in between where the cars were parked. The only safe place to walk was in the path of the traffic, this I attempted to do. As I approached the supermarket entrance, I heard the cheerful dulcet tones of an Essex voice, “look where you are …

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The class of 61

Memories are sometimes like machine gun bullets, I hear them fire as I recall those days, when we longed for our gentle evenings, far away from the pervert’s idol and the classroom prison. Born to the simple folk on the hill whose trusting hearts were totally betrayed by the teacher’s shining smiles. Jimmy Jones my …

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