I’m having
one of those ‘totally fed up with lockdown days’! I think it’s showing in my
writing today as I can’t come up with anything remotely funny and that’s well
needed. Our washing machine is on such a whirl that I think it might take off at any second. If it’s heading to Mars, I’m totally interested.
My
uncle, Billy Johnstone, will be playing at Acoustic Edge online today – see yesterday’s
post for details. So, if you’re at a loose end at 5pm, pop along to listen to four
artists. Whatever you do, have a groovy Sunday! And if you get to boogie with any little green men with antennae, let me know.
Slip
See the
scuffle of the sun let loose
Upon
clifftops of mountains framed
With pungent
wildflowers, wafts of
Butterflies
oblivious to falling fragments.
A side
slide. Excruciating. Down drop.
This
escape into infinity. A relapse.
A space
in which to contemplate a life.
Fixed roots
fail in the underskirt.
This roll
in ether, withering fall,
And
stop. He will plug it all back in,
Tug back
the torrent rushing in,
Keep the
sea in his circular arms.
Copyright
Vickie Johnstone, June 28, 2020
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