Burning Slowly

A random tale of a random poet living a random life. (Many of the pictures are mine but my apologies to the owners of the ones that I have blatantly ripped off. If you are really unhappy about me using your images, email me and I will remove them. If not, thanks for the loan. Outcast Poet)

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Location: Oxford, United Kingdom

I write real poems, and play real music.

Tuesday, July 14, 2009

Pity for the City


Time crashes on as the coolness of spring simmers into summer and the last of Murphy’s winter coat falls out all over the house. Highs and lows, nowhere to hide, nowhere to go. Sweet river Thames meanders me through misty memories of days gone by and future yet to come. The swarming mayflies have had their day and ducklings have swam and had their play. I’m just sitting here watching the river flow, all dressed down and no place to go. Iced white wine, blue skyline; wild deer and breeze all running free, and me, still trying to see the wood for the trees. Weeds and reeds; so few bees; distant church bells ringing, so many birds singing, its such a beautiful day, its such a beautiful day and I feel pity for the city, feel pity for the city, I feel pity for the city that I left behind.

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