flat.fish.flesh

Burn bore beautiful barn born bairns.

These peanuts have just reminded me of one late clear skied summer evening towards the end of a highlands holiday, when the pub’s policy was too strict to allow my brother & I to sit indoors so, as our parents drank inside, we waited by the car, eating the peanuts that they had brought out to us.

You really must train that cat you have
and educate her to be she not man.
A beast to sit in your own front room
not a fella that lies at your bedside.

Pablo painted pretty peculiar pictures particularly in purple and pink.

Horny Hurst haunts one hundred heaving hearts.

Nat’s neither nit nor nut.

Wolfie stared out across three feet of tube carriage straight at Lambkin who, lowering her head out of his gaze, raised her eyes back up into it, reddening so slightly, as he stared back.

Lambkin silently willed him to reach out and make her smile, whilst she sat there meekly dealing with some greasy bloke’s elbow being thrust in her face. Glancing around expectantly for some knight who didn’t come. Sad, dark, emotive expression, Scandinavian mouth.

Wolfie turned quickly, walked up and said “Hey didn’t I see you on the tube the other day? That guy kept shoving his elbow in your face. Sorry I should have come to help you. But I’m not really much of a street fighter.” Eyes working overtime to take in the sudden stranger. Darting glances over each other’s faces, eagerly eyeing mouth and nose and teeth. “Do you fancy a drink? Let’s get out here.”

Lambkin walked away with a smirk on her face that lasted for days and by the time that she realised that he never had called her back she’d forgotten his face anyway. She smiled.

Oh you tender young dates, don’t you know?
How soon we shall eat you all up.
Devour your flesh and consume,
but not till you blister and pop.

Not yet though.
You’re yet so
yellow and tart.
So hard so.

That early dry bite was enough
to put me off snacking for days.
Oh when will you ever grow up?
Oh why can’t we eat them today?

Two weeks go,
you’re still so
bitter but better.
Can’t wait though.

Just as you ripen and rot,
names have been given your days,
to cherish your fall into to sweetness,
to countdown, to relish the ways.

We prune you,
your skins too.
Our prizes,
we prise you.

Now that you’re all over, completed and gone,
we’re so soon to be done with you all.
Could have gone slower, could have spent longer,
but clear from the get go, you always would fall.

Fabulously flamboyant Flozzie Flo frequently flies first to France.

Sinister S slips his silky tongue over my lip.
Turns my word into swords.
Slaughters your laughter.
Scares, sours our care.
Shouts out curses not cures.
Takes slights at the day light
then slaps your lap and snaps my nap in two.