July 3, 2010 at 5:06 pm | Posted in jazz poetry, sheer selfindulgence, writing | 5 Comments
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… a reality whose connection to the actual world of the imagining reader is tenuous at best. The truth becomes gloriously irrelevant, postulations on orchids,

How old fashioned thinks the vicar, louche on Ms Helpburn’s divan. Now we are in the post-Victorian in which all is quaint decoration and pop but he remains tightlipped on the outside of whatever’s slightly outre.  Rain, he suggests aloud as she pours his tea, and struggles to find a tiny niche in which to survive like some strange insect. Happy for the shelter of a waxy leaf from which water drips, snoozing through the day with a low buzz which may just be tired lungs and excessive humidity,

She sits, decorously, Vicar, it is such a wonderful word, don’t you think. Sorry, he says, I was just looking at your garden, so gentle and pretty in the afternoon rain, Ms Helpburn. Do you have a gardener?



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  1. Ooh-er missus :)Fabulously subtle, wonderful characters.

  2. which old movie of hers did you catch…. i couldn’t help as i was reading to consider in the backside of the mind do i recall a scene from one of her early movies i am sure there is… dig the shelter of a wet leaf we can all hide there…. good one paul…

  3. Ha! I can almost hear you reading this now. I especially like the way I am imagining hearing you read the part beginning, “Rain” and the way your voice changes at “niche” and “drips” and “snozing.” And the tea, how lovely if you could serve tea at this juncture. Certainly I ought to make myself a cup to drink while I’m reading this. You improve my view of insect life.

  4. um, make that “snoozing”

  5. Funny thing Paul…how I’m minding my own business, thumbing through some great art on the net, strolling through photos…lo and behold a link to this poem pops up. Placed there by you. Random among some comments. And here you are, still building your sand castle. Maybe saying hi..? even if just postulating on orchids, I’m glad you spoke up.

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