Dave Green
@DaveGreen1963
http://www.ArtPal.com/artist_in_a_shed Poetry, paint, odd shards.
Early stroll. Vague hints of weeping drizzle. That greenhouse could be a greenhouse-shaped ice cube. A broken gingerbread man on the pavement. Six hexagonal flagstones on a pebbled garden. Smoke rises from an old bonfire.
The old house Sultry as it is, the track Round the back of Clifton Had shade. I made For the roofless turret, Fireplace levitating - Doves clapping, perhaps. The lease had ceased, A herd of Suffolks moved in, The first in the area To own a motor car. Morn @IMcMillan
Village in sepia Oftentimes they grubbed about here Finding coins, bottles ‘til they hear The klaxon. 37 dogs dashing To a meat pot (in a fashion). George the butcher stripping sinews From a calf, cursing in blood trews. This is how they all learned the news. Morn @IMcMillan
Early stroll. Even in late July, autumn is learning its lines. Sunrise held in a front room window. A dead mouse on the pavement. A half-eaten ice cream on a low wall. Pebbles in the shape on a four on a dice.
Fever Sand eyes, bloodshot Some say I’ve got Ague-pains, plague traits Hell-dragged long nights Clock stalled, tock-tick Long wait, I’m sick Of this dark damp Wheat-spores, face cramp Morn @IMcMillan
Wrath He chose to love those most afraid For fear will fuel the blaze of life & even then a random plague Upon a throng so prone to grief I read the illustrated book My ancestors had circumscribed All this was a long way back Besides which they were not my tribe M @IMcMillan
Here go Dark days ahead. My anxiety a migraine bolus. The clock hammers. Bruised ennui. Words force time, Urge its gyrations. I write to fight resistance. You are complicit. Time for you clanks by, Each word a carriage. We are stuck together In a poetic marriage. M @IMcMillan
Son He’ll be here soon: the great Wanderer, pioneer Of marquees, fetes, Some kind of seer Dome see him as a wizard Or opaque spectre, Worldly without bank card, Where water is nectar Nature is holy; Owns a mattock, mixer, Little else, noble, lowly, Truly a fixer M @IMcMillan
Early stroll. Clouds etched on the eastern sky. Constellations of yellow flowers. A man’s baseball cap slices through the air ahead of him. A cat walks towards the dentist’s. A long hole in a closed road.
Early stroll. That fallen brown leaf is a message from last autumn. A seemingly empty house, full of air and memories. A broken sign exhorts BE ON LEAD. A purple suitcase on the pavement’s still carousel. Birthday cards crowd out the glass ducks on that windowsill.
Hay Let them fall, those galaxies In fractal worlds that hang In clusters winds have hurled, The soft-spiked globes Of fever dreams that torment me. These humid beams are piercing Cones and slewing ultra Dreadnought melting bones. My stone eyes scream in pain. M @IMcMillan
Early stroll. Yesterday’s mist makes a brief reappearance. The epic stillness of the morning air. That bird is a glider built from feathers. A brief history of the sound of a passing bus. The mystery of those fallen apples with no apple tree nearby.