light, water, elderberries, sky
on the canal path
in Devizes
*
by Gail
Image
The Meme of Me
A visual response to narcissism on the internet
by Gail
Antigua Joe and the Crazy Angel at The Black Swan
by Gail
Carnival Birds
Carnalville
Devizes Carnival tonight! Watch out for Roger…!
Roger’s libido had increased significantly in his eighties, in inverse proportion to the decrease in his hearing and cognitive ability. The long suffering Betty had tried, despite her arthritis and utter disinterest in such matters, to accommodate his needs; there had been cringeworthy forays in to swinging, unusual items appearing in the shed and furtive gropings on the bus to Swindon.
“Carnival tonight” said Betty, one September in the late afternoon. She was baking buns for church on Sunday, and a warm waft drifted through the house and in to the garden and the Devizes air.
“Carnalville?” said Roger “What goes on there?”
“Oh you know. Dancing girls. Men in dresses. People standing on street corners. Sounds of pumping and banging. Drinking. Over excitement. Unwanted pregnancies. Rubbing up against strangers. The usual.”
Roger liked the sound of Carnalville very much indeed. An appropriate occasion for the Calvin Kleins perhaps. And an extra Viagra.
It was going to be a very interesting night.
by Gail
Green Men
On the Green Men who are carved in stone at the church
of St. John the Baptist, Devizes…
Devizes Dervish
The Rajasthan Brass Band bring colour to Devizes Street Festival
*
*
by Gail
Fie Sir, thou art a Troll
(a response to a provocative post)
*
Your voyeuristic anal post
Has got me choking on my toast
I should have better things to do
Than commenting on sex and poo
Whilst everybody likes a joke
‘Tis somewhat niche, the anal poke
Night up the alley, hard to see
For those without a front door key
What people do behind closed doors
With wives or husbands, friends or whores
Is up to them when with consent
I question, sir, your post’s intent
We English hide within our castles
No comment when it comes to assholes
Trolling really gets my goat
Fie, sir, flounder in my moat
I hope your banal gasket’s blown
Write what you know and get your own
*
by Gail
Starry Starry Guitar
by Gail
The Gift of Eros
Aloft flies Eros; mischief fluttered wings
With silent rustle whisper overhead
By arrows pierced; the hearts of knaves and kings
The chilly grave, the restless lover’s bed
Blue London air, red Piccadilly light
Above the shifting crowd and constant noise
In summer heat, in neon and the night
He aims his slender bow with perfect poise
Aloft flies Eros; underneath his feet
As shadows of the Circus slowly shift
I contemplate my own love, bitter, sweet
The wound that Eros wrought in me, the gift
And as I turn my tears up to the sky
A pigeon drops an arrow in my eye
by Gail
gailfromdevizes 