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Galaxies in collision

Originally posted on Jane's Musing:
Cast the words to warm my heart. Touch me; bring me to life; share your dreams with me. Let our twin souls play – Wisps on the breeze, entwined in an ethereal waltz. As galaxies in collision, we will emerge as one. Updated 28 July to add upside down version :) We will emerge as one as galaxies in collision, entwined in an ethereal…

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Slow Train

The rare luxury of ‘me’ time gives me time to reflect. No responsibilities; the chance just to be. Getting into the meditative rhythm of train on track as we dash through the British countryside. Back to nature through rain-streaked glass at two hundred miles an hour. Maybe not. It’s the slow train. Twenty-two stops between me and my destination: An – on Sea, – by Sea, south coast extravaganza. One…

I can dream

Originally posted on Jane's Musing:
I dreamt last night that I was a luddite; that all my clicks were stiletto heels on parquet flooring, leaving their mark like eager fingernail trails down your spine, as we danced to our tune. I dreamt last night of universal blackouts; the only light from candle flames, with reflections of the satellites and stars in our eyes as we shared a celestial experience.…

Romancing the poet

Originally posted on Jane's Musing:
Romancing the poet Where is the romance in a poet who does not feel? Does he dream, perchance to sleep? Or does he lay awake all through the night; words tumbling round and round, perfectly structured, immaculately positioned ironic parameters, or the like? Words worthy of… a rub… in his tub Aye! There it is! While I wait for a love letter from the…

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Nothing to see here

Another Spooner-inspired scribbling… Maine’s Jews sing, “Pipping my dinky in the pondry poet” Which, whilst it might sound thus, is not a euphonium. There’s a low-ethic papoose on the moose; pilty with grimy rations, pealing my stome ideas. Gnomes of poot and France ents. These were my challenges, grisen to voraciously. He’s quite never when he puts his clog into it. Digressing, this home is not about Pim – it’s…