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Bohemia
A memory of a small but unforgettable part of London.
Walking down to Camden Lock
with colour and fizz all around
on a warm August day:
narrow boats, top hats and silk scarves,
old pubs, rent boys, spruikers;
The Regent's dark canal,
people-watchers. Music like jewels.
Such is the raucous silence
of loneliness.
Chris Hubbard
2018
Thursday 15th March 2018 4:02 am
The Template of my Being
Been there
Done it
Eaten it
Drunk it
Almost drowned in it
Nearly died
Praised it
Cursed it
Dodged it
Traversed it
Just you name it
I’ll have tried
Smoked it
Snorted it
Been traumatised by it
Reduced to tears by it
Laughed and cried
Run it
Walked it
Chased it
Caught it
Wished I hadn’t bothered s...
Monday 24th June 2013 4:00 pm
Cry Petey, I See Bards Rounding the Bend
`
Cry we all toward places unnamed
Rise above the crested hills
Yell we will - shattering door frames
Plundering thoughts of plovered wills
Tear at the wallpaper - reveal the grain
Ink the slate - etched by wound-dipped quills
Crouch, prowl - ready to pounce on game
Brandishing swords, blaring trumpets shrill
Arching backs, phosphorescent wicks aflame
Ridding netted fish o...
Sunday 19th December 2010 2:32 pm
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