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Aquarius Buried Treasure Callanish S T O N E D Q U A R T Z McMac Pardon? Tattoo Camera Obscura High Creagan The West Highlander Pot Of Gold StarVoyagers Deep Breath Vulpes Vulgaris Richard |
H.M.S. Belfast Firing Range Royal Visit Crisp and Even Elizabeth Great Court S.T. Barnabas Runaway Vengence Weapon No 1 Water Trough Woolwich Ferry CloudBusting Segas Showing My Age 39 Rue Grande Nigel Knows Disco Not Cricket It Is Better Mind How You Go No Flowers Ashes to Ashes R.I.P. Feminist |
I woke up in the dark and snow And called out, "Mum where are you?" The house was empty, freezing cold, Open door, Foot prints the clue. A street of houses, Yawning portals, The dead of night, A dearth of mortals, The sky a flickering orange Casting moving blanks of light, Drawing, sreaching hopefuls, wide eyes, To pointing huddle in nightwear bright . In the gap between the roof tops Sparks rise up in fountains, Flames devour the dry oak beams, Leave the wails as jagged mountains. And later, in the watery sunrise, When snow becomes sacred soot, Mourners, meandering, stare in anguish, With blackened glass underfoot. 2.3.44 |