Standing in the rain.
Shoulders hunched, head hung low.
Glimpse of a red jacket,
Is it her?
To see her.
So the bull passed his days.
Embraced by the rocky arms of
Morte and Baggy Points.
Shifting sands for miles
Ebb and flow.
Rips to dare and scare
I’m writing to you from my apartment
Carefully formed words on clean white parchment
Trying to tell exactly what my heart meant
Attempting to ease this mental torment.
‘A commemorative 50p piece?’ she exclaimed ‘I wonder what will be on it?’. One suggestion was 45p, as that’s what it will be worth by summer 2019. #130story
I saw her
Gleefully riding the waves
Turquoise hair whipped by the whirling wind
Silvery body shining and sinuous Laughing delightedly
And luring young men to their doom. #130story
In the half light of
early morning leaden skies,
footsteps echo down the stairs as
grey sighs rise in the gloom,
concrete walls absorb the sadness
prisoners of work.
It was estimated that 700,000 people marched peacefully in London on Saturday to show their concern about Brexit and how it is being handled. No trouble. No arrests. #130story
After a tree fell on Paul the plumber’s storage unit, he moved his kit and supplies into Fred the farmer’s barn.
‘Get your tanks off my corn’ said Fred. #130story