Monday, April 19, 2010
Pure Fiction Driving The Poetry Bus!
Pure fiction set an interesting and challenging task this week, I struggled, it's good to struggle sometimes.
See all the other passengers here Pure Fiction or even better get on the bus yourself.Tea and biscuits are promised at the Rock of Cashel, I'm sure you'd get a whippy ice cream there too.
The humming lawnmowers a sweet smelling zephyr
Of honeysuckle daydreams
Golden sun warming cool beers of cultivated thought
A cerebral garden of cosy remembrance not
An earthquake, volcanic ash, planes crashing,
war raging ,people starving, dying by the skip load.
Huge unbearable calamitous monsters
fenced far from the brink of cosy cuckoo coos of
a designer-stitched summer's day.
But a grasshopper’s rasp could push you deep over the edge,
Or the line of a book, the lilt of a song,
the gentle prod of a celluloid smile.
Cavalier of life, cotton wool cloud-dreamer
Could you be safer, more guilty, being
Watched over by angels of white barking in the dark?