Author: Dux &#8230;

—

by

Another day of baking sky where swifts and swallows dance, where gentle breezes carry ease to Bethels green expanse, where butterflies on nectars search patrol the flower borders and somehow find a way to trust in Mother Nature’s orders. In mythic tune the blackbird trills and speaks the seasons glory beneath it hums the drone…

lunar bumps

—

by

A rocket hit the moon today at seven times the speed of sound before I’d even burnt my toast the Falcon Nine met lunar ground. With teslascopic eyes we heard a plume of cratered dust arise delayed in time by half a breath across the distance twixt our skies. A pile of debris thus accretes…

unglorious

—

by

The glorious 12th is upon us with it’s filthy tradition upheld the rifles and stocks of the tweed suited toffs can be seen thru the gunpowder smells. The lingering lust and it’s folly can be found in the sound of huzzah I’ve bagged me a brace though I don’t like the taste of the grouse…

Topsy Turvy

—

by

In the lands of Topsy Turvy there’s a book that reads itself and a pile of words that have never been heard on a libraries empty shelf, there’s a clock that’s ticking backwards and a wind that never blows, there’s a path that leads to yesterday and a plan that no-one knows. In the land…

what to makerfield

—

by

What to make of Makerfield ( and how to read the leaves ) More than all the others put together at the count boxes full of X’s as a stage begins to mount, Starmer and his retinue in nervousness await the change they feel a-coming in the pages of our fate. A surge of optimism…

shadows

—

by

I heard it first, a rumble midst the choral sound of birds, the air in thrumming density, the murmuring of war-like words, I watch a shadow pass across the meadowlands of hay and saw the gun-metal silhouettes of RAF at play. I ask myself the question am I glad that I am safe? Far from…

re : hydration

—

by

A fundamental shift has happened right before our eyes, conventions have been torn apart with profit as it’s prize, with welfare as it’s rationale, a chance to take on waters, a game of halves has now become a game of dimes and quarters. It makes me mad cos fieldings ads disrupts the flow and feeling,…

the reflecting pool

—

by

Reflected in the broken lies a vista which epitomises blisters in the shameless skin and cracks which let the darkness in. Corrupted by the vanities vulgarity in graceless form with botched intent our miscreant pours vitriol to pool the scorn.

Clac-where

—

by

I think I’ll go to Clacton and get myself a vote, the train seems too expensive so i think i’ll take a boat, I’ve heard that folks that live there will get to make a choice To stick an X within a box, democracy rejoice. I’ll read the leaflets carefully, consider long and hard to…

the poet puts the kettle on

—

by