Those wicked winds always do blow ill. |
Och flute you.
"And the cause of death was his own fault".
So spake the grandmother in her comfy throne of hate.
"Sure didn't he not have any to blame but himself".
Drawing breath, ...
Posted by W.J. Leonard on Fri, 05 Oct 2007 01:22:00 PST |
These things did I |
The Ghoul Let me tear at your flesh with fingers insecure I have a need to destroy that part of me purge your past I can not stand to see the lost of me in you I need to scrape your bones clean off th...
Posted by W.J. Leonard on Thu, 27 Sep 2007 04:26:00 PST |
Gough Avenue |
Elements of beginning I don't walk there anymore, not anymore red brick council, square cut lawn was it that that was my life then? the man next door kept alsatian dogs lean and angry in their two foo...
Posted by W.J. Leonard on Sat, 22 Sep 2007 06:14:00 PST |
These words can. |
Untitled Morning
The cheque sat on the kitchen table as the porridge bubbled the voice on the radio told of latin masses advocated songs that no one could ever like half light of creation...
Posted by W.J. Leonard on Fri, 14 Sep 2007 05:48:00 PST |
I never knew so little. |
September days have become quite the vogue at present, least ways they have here in London town. Only heaven knows the fashions of the provinces. (Least said soonest mended.) September ni...
Posted by W.J. Leonard on Wed, 12 Sep 2007 05:49:00 PST |
DLR dreaming in the Slough of Despond. |
"I'm having the worst luck with this play wot I am wroting down for bad time boys who think to know what it is about but don't know nuffin." A.D.Normal
Seems like I can't make a note on t...
Posted by W.J. Leonard on Mon, 10 Sep 2007 03:59:00 PST |
The Grandmother |
Her generation really aren't in touch with their feelings. (Seventy eight and she's still an emotional adolescent.)She's from the time that forgot to Freud. Perhaps it's a class thing? If your working...
Posted by W.J. Leonard on Mon, 16 Jul 2007 08:51:00 PST |
Redemption? Anyone? |
I walked to work through the grim hungover dreamscape of south east London this morning. In Lewisham I caught the worlds worst roller coaster, the docklands light railway, the rest of the way to hell....
Posted by W.J. Leonard on Sun, 15 Jul 2007 03:13:00 PST |
As Justine says this is arguably more prose than poetry... |
Funeral March The wood of her coffin cut sharp into my right shoulder it was a comfort, that hard physical pain a contrast and distraction from the numb pain, all welled up inside; getting ready to la...
Posted by W.J. Leonard on Tue, 10 Jul 2007 01:20:00 PST |
Memory lane tripping with my umberella. |
Elements of beginning I don't walk there anymore not anymore red brick council, square cut lawn was it that that was my life then? The man next door kept alsation dogs lean and angry in their two foot...
Posted by W.J. Leonard on Sun, 08 Jul 2007 04:35:00 PST |
