There is a palette, rare, that Autumn holds
Brights shades of amber, sepias and golds
The forest canopies - once emerald green
Now set ablaze with burnished tangerine
The foliage drifts, butterscotch and brown
Soft pastel-hued confetti, spinning down
So crisp, the air and leaves of scarlet red
As Mother Nature tucks the woods in bed
And when the months are waxing on to ten ...
This bold vermillion dance ... will start again
October 16, 2018
Spotted ears are identified by counting. And eventually merge. Which is problematic for a walking abacus. Counting calling catering clapping. Charadmarus of a bean sprout in wellies. Or a suit. Take one pea and chase it down the m53 at noon. It is often considered to be exceedingly exciting. But blindfolds whilst baking is not a very good idea as over icing can lead to very badly made decisions. Chop chop chop then. And a resin block sings from a violin case. Chords cantering. Saturation of statutory statistic. %%% 0 to the %. Being a bathing branch. Good. Going. Pointless pinning a picture with a rusted spoon. Acronyms *** persecuted *** montage *** cosmological sepias xxxx z
Pictures.... once sketched
In uncompromising hues
Of hot sepias and brilliant pastels
Companions by choice
Shades held together, pained in
Harmony
Facing the sky,
Singing to a love
Bigger than we are
We trod in the twisted pathways,
Of time
A never-ending search,
For the truth
Seems we've been struggling
With these issues since youth
Yet, Time stands still for no man
When it gets to be too much
We return it all to God’s Hand
Comments:
In this multi-faceted world
I gently caste my bread upon the waters.
Regaining my strength one hundred fold…
At midnight the solid tapered etch of concrete wall
Viewed from Charing Cross Pier, paraded headstrong,
It highlighted in as much an accompaniment to the call,
Where eagerly, old father Thames saw him walking along.
Surmounting steps where the view of Waterloo Bridge,
Made assessments to the whereabouts of the Festival Hall
Imaged silhouetted dignitaries like Dame Edna Everage,
Made the Grand Savoy seem like a fine old Dame to all.
A variety of sepias throughout the entire stretch faded
Entered by shadows where blurry figments to an illusion,
Became a night time London, where history was paraded
Brought Big Ben’s final clamour to a mighty conclusion.
Dark! The stark content of breeze from the Embankment
Whispers an alluring attachment to the ripples on the river
Bringing with it, fears from the past where thoughts cement
How it was still possible for the dead postman to deliver.
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