Long Tye Poems

LOST IN BRITAIN

Poling, Patching, Nether Wallop, 
Matching Tye and Droop

Plumpton, Lickfold, Puddletown, 
Westward Ho! and Throop.

Hole of Horcum, New Invention,
Boghead, Frome, Cat's Ash

North Piddle, Staines and Pen*stone,
Wash Dyke, East Breast and Flash.

Six Mile Bottom, Mudford...

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laying in the bath tub
he threw up again
devouring the headache
addicted to his worst enemy
i cant tell you the symphony she played upon her arms
the sharpness i tried to keep at bay
how hard it played upon...

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perhaps i should have looked away 
my mind takes me back to the general store 
of black liquorish sticks red cobble stone walk ways 
the reading of immortal poems as william mason
 
sounds off hot...

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written in octaves

Tom gathers broken branches
and stubs his toes on roots.
Tywhoppity’s rich bottom
is tidied up each autumn.
The ache and pain he stanches
to reap September fruits.
Tom gathers broken branches
and stubs his toes on roots.

Re-staking his best...

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Let’s hve haggis and drinks mi luve
Find de bes ina de ole land 
Lay yu head on mi chest mi luve
Whilst wi dance musik wid de band

Dance wid de band in de Highlands
Backyard jig good...

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Die Lewens gang 

So dwaal ek rond in die lewens gang 
vol van verlange en oral teen di mure 
hang potrete van herineringe. 

Die tyd het geloop sy eie loop 
geloop. Hy het ons mee...

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Women over 50 are Invisible
(according to one source)

But…isn’t that a superpower?

Please don’t notice me
wearing the same black leggings
three days in a row
Content to sit on my couch
trash t.v., pumpkin pie breakfast
Don’t listen to me
imitate British...

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In the land of "If" somewhere this side of forgotten dreams
the world is very foggy and nothing is as it seems

There are no deadlines or plans
things just happen as they may

There are no new commitments...

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When did it all end
Summer time out of school and summer best friends
Trying to swim in a creek with water only to your shins
Trips on Fridays, the whole family going to the Drive In
By eleven...

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‘Twas December, two thousand two;
Christmas, of course, and my main thought -
Decking the halls on Tye Avenue.

With a broken leg, I’m in a stew,  
my house, the only bare spot.
‘Twas December, two thousand two.

Grandkids,...

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Tiny orbs of iridescence,
Rainbow clear and glitter,
sparkle, shine, shimmer,
Innocent and bitter.
Twinkle twinkle little sphere,
lilting to and fro,
Dancing on the jasmine breath,
Of kisses angels blow.
Oil slick swirls of spectrum,
Essence trapped in glass,
tumbling on edges of incense,
Whimsical,...

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Bare,
Yet fair,
None can compare.
To the nude silver branches and barren expanses,
That the cool of winter doth bring.
Unless you equate the way the birds sing,
In the start of the fresh, blooming spring.
Or perhaps the warm air,
Filled...

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