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The Mound
The Mound
It started way back when I was a child
One cold November night in sixty-four
Old furniture and windfall from the trees
Piled high into a mound of combustibles
Each year new kindling was added to ashes
That had smudged the verdant back garden lawn
Layer upon layer added to the blackened hill
That was gradually growing towards the sky
One year I lo...
Wednesday 2nd September 2020 2:41 pm
Wastelands
Wastelands
Canal side moorings and old mills
Stretch their northern roots into the collapsed rubble
Of Industrialised wreckage
Overgrown with harsh grass and weeds
An old man sits at the side of the grey water
And dips a hopeful line into its murky depths
There are parts of old bikes and shopping trolleys
Poking from the surface like Leviathan bones
Paths ...
Tuesday 12th May 2020 12:57 pm
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