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Sunday cockcrow nascent aural essays reveal laissez-faire raptures. Enigmatic silken piece compost ushered in by trenchant trademark tremulous signature. Doe-eyed instrumentalist’s strident brass ensemble, wakey wakey for the pier gazing loiterer whose blasé sashay amble’s out of kilter. Maverick antennae on a radio safari, hawking hourglass heritage lodestone. Closet Peter Pan’s astride transistor, literati goggle eyed and glued. Silhouettes of wistful mint leaf tract, navigating hoarse throat shellback allegory. Earnest weekend welcome mat to madcap jester, laureate, bohemian. Religiously the listener’s transported from a humble tepee sanctum to alluring levee inundation area, far flung folly edifice, nomad siren hymn sheet to mount Half Dome. Long wave bounder in my dreams, I limb skip oe’r fiction world simulcast entanglement, snoop beneath rogallo-wing parachute in a Middle East plot, “twin peaks” would be awestruck by this labyrinthine concourse. One can flit invisibly round medieval black market cobblestone arcades, ghost novelist’s ethereal penchant for pinch and pilfer retro-fit infringement. Melting pot cinnamon dispenser, whiff stick fix antidote to kettledrum ennui the blight of urban jungle setting and rural folklore. Otherworld contortion with a shard of drama for magic carpet flight of fancy broadcast Lineage derived from ancient epochs now assumed but for an inkling, icons I become with card shark sly booth legerdemain. Maybe I’m that fictile clueless hiker, destitute, indigent, meanderer in nation state colossus whose fiendish tongue’s a wry sudoku baffle or that moth-infested pillar wreck, the thirty year rule. With a little latitude I’d shadow plot my reverie landing on some poet’s scented flower or just as likely eavesdrop on the mocha sipping Monet, coffee cup aloft, cast among the butterflies, harvesting a feast on barren canvass. Reverting to an earlier Renaissance I’m some regal family’s celebrated offspring a fragile baby cradled by maternal instincts. Imagine for a moment me the swimmer, wallower in oceans Maya blue, driven by the prospect of Olympic podium, fuelled by live wire rushes, or the influential virtuoso sculpting drafts so heavenly they lift the Sony user into orbit. But alas this Xanadu diversion has a brusque untimely rendezvous with kingpin schedule, as that trumpet blast alarm morphs and mutes into some vapour strewn amorphous mead. On foot of this I harbour thoughts of being an olive branch across the ether that hypnotises dull remit with lustrous anecdotal caper, teleporting lives to fourth dimensions. There’s always hope Posted : October 6 th 2021 “R” contest, New or Old Sponsor : Constance La France Poem dedicated to my favourite magazine programme and its reveal.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2021

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