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The Little Wooden Boy

The Little Wooden Boy. Doing things with words and pictures. Monday, 22 December 2014. Back fence second coming clock growls low. Offering a fistful of wet Jesus slips. I used to paint the horizon at the embankment end. There was always too much sky. Below, the wharf with oxide fur on barge remains green smears. Crowmobbed heron pierce air to bleak. Hands dripping with autoimmunity. The skin hospital’s lamps. Dead cygnet bones somewhere. And the nest open mouthed. Boy run off by swan in bestial glory.

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The Little Wooden Boy | childofwood.blogspot.com Reviews

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The Little Wooden Boy. Doing things with words and pictures. Monday, 22 December 2014. Back fence second coming clock growls low. Offering a fistful of wet Jesus slips. I used to paint the horizon at the embankment end. There was always too much sky. Below, the wharf with oxide fur on barge remains green smears. Crowmobbed heron pierce air to bleak. Hands dripping with autoimmunity. The skin hospital’s lamps. Dead cygnet bones somewhere. And the nest open mouthed. Boy run off by swan in bestial glory.

<META> KEYWORDS

1 reservoir

2 on portacabin walls

3 a face liquefied

4 water drowning

5 baby trees

6 the rushes o

7 posted by

8 wooden boy

9 7 comments

10 email this

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reservoir,on portacabin walls,a face liquefied,water drowning,baby trees,the rushes o,posted by,wooden boy,7 comments,email this,blogthis,share to twitter,share to facebook,share to pinterest,labels edgbaston reservoir,poetry,games,are we small,2 comments

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The Little Wooden Boy | childofwood.blogspot.com Reviews

https://childofwood.blogspot.com

The Little Wooden Boy. Doing things with words and pictures. Monday, 22 December 2014. Back fence second coming clock growls low. Offering a fistful of wet Jesus slips. I used to paint the horizon at the embankment end. There was always too much sky. Below, the wharf with oxide fur on barge remains green smears. Crowmobbed heron pierce air to bleak. Hands dripping with autoimmunity. The skin hospital’s lamps. Dead cygnet bones somewhere. And the nest open mouthed. Boy run off by swan in bestial glory.

INTERNAL PAGES

childofwood.blogspot.com

1

The Little Wooden Boy: August 2014

http://childofwood.blogspot.com/2014_08_01_archive.html

The Little Wooden Boy. Doing things with words and pictures. Sunday, 31 August 2014. Are these leaves with black fungal kisses. Living things or parts of living things or gathered up? Sulfur stench at tunnel mouth. Impossible grass at the feet. Barge Horse Way cuts through estate. On some holy bicycle. I can see the outside of the rain. Willesden Green and Finsbury. Are melting among the green meadows. Now the flabby clouds shift at film speed. Bruise on the knee is lovely and petals. Show up the hollow.

2

The Little Wooden Boy: Well Groomed

http://childofwood.blogspot.com/2014/12/well-groomed.html

The Little Wooden Boy. Doing things with words and pictures. Monday, 1 December 2014. His hands very small. Outside trees slept thin fog drifted. Over the road Witton Cemetery:. Two men washed a gravestone. To a white fixed point. He told us that we shouldn't. 1 December 2014 at 21:47. Positive versus small hands.mmm.intriguing interesting thoughts. 1 December 2014 at 23:07. Thank you, Sandra. Those small hands were unnerving as a dolls. 2 December 2014 at 12:59. 2 December 2014 at 11:11. The Six Day Race.

3

The Little Wooden Boy: September 2014

http://childofwood.blogspot.com/2014_09_01_archive.html

The Little Wooden Boy. Doing things with words and pictures. Monday, 29 September 2014. With crashed seducer eyes. Then a daub wrinkles. Mote and Beam Grid tilts. Woods are made not to exist. Rose wash veils run over. Petals open hic et nunc. Fur and feather echos. Brim splits and fails. A matted hand says yes (only just) and flexes. Saturday, 20 September 2014. It is a person. On the wipe clean chair. Woolen monkey with plastic face and. Unfeels for the floor. From my sweating head:. Until it's not and.

4

The Little Wooden Boy: July 2014

http://childofwood.blogspot.com/2014_07_01_archive.html

The Little Wooden Boy. Doing things with words and pictures. Sunday, 27 July 2014. Lace lifts up at the window. So the swifts' skinny song. Blood crust colour brickwork. In the relaxation suite. And the bubble tube turns red. Woman in death'shead shirt. Will not turn around. As he drinks up. Chaotic singing throng;. Turn the dark cloud inside out. Quake, all proper persons, quake! A dripping radio says. In miserly rain where some lips. Of Morall counsels, I to bedlam give. Sunday, 20 July 2014. Pins and ...

5

The Little Wooden Boy: Reservoir

http://childofwood.blogspot.com/2014/12/reservoir.html

The Little Wooden Boy. Doing things with words and pictures. Monday, 22 December 2014. Back fence second coming clock growls low. Offering a fistful of wet Jesus slips. I used to paint the horizon at the embankment end. There was always too much sky. Below, the wharf with oxide fur on barge remains green smears. Crowmobbed heron pierce air to bleak. Hands dripping with autoimmunity. The skin hospital’s lamps. Dead cygnet bones somewhere. And the nest open mouthed. Boy run off by swan in bestial glory.

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http://bardisbong.blogspot.com/2013/04/bard-in-wingspimparianickitheir-first.html

DO YOU KNOW WHAT SHE DID? Always up to read, listen or think on something new. if you'd like to send your work, gmail: bongbard1309. Apr 18, 2013. Bard in the wings/pimp/aria/nicki/their first time - jnana hodson. BARD IN THE WINGS. The cabby to the airport. Would soon be teaching dramatics. Though he hates Shakespeare. An airplane far below. Was a crucifix stalled in place. As the world moves. Most despicable of men. Twists a girl’s need. Puts her on the street. And dope in her veins. In three fast years.

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Bong Is Bard: Appeasing the Situation in Lebanon, NH - Roy G. Guzmán

http://bardisbong.blogspot.com/2013/05/appeasing-situation-in-lebanon-nh-roy-g.html

DO YOU KNOW WHAT SHE DID? Always up to read, listen or think on something new. if you'd like to send your work, gmail: bongbard1309. May 22, 2013. Appeasing the Situation in Lebanon, NH - Roy G. Guzmán. Home is where the mind, having failed three landings,. Traces back its history to the schoolyard; to the grand. Church in the middle of the square; to the icon of a flutist. Guiding children at the park to find their individual parents. Ghosts of horses trot without purpose. Every stone. Take a cruise to ...

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Bong Is Bard: White Collar Crime/Bloody Sam - Ross Peterson

http://bardisbong.blogspot.com/2013/05/white-collar-crimebloody-sam-ross.html

DO YOU KNOW WHAT SHE DID? Always up to read, listen or think on something new. if you'd like to send your work, gmail: bongbard1309. May 30, 2013. White Collar Crime/Bloody Sam - Ross Peterson. It was midnight when I got the call. Gin drunk and covered in shadows,. Mary Anne O'Shanter spewed the fix. Her husband, the Fat Man, and Fontaine. I rolled a cigarette,. Forgetting about the one I left lingering. What I needed was a shovel, some suspenders, a can of soup,. It didn't add up. The midget named Carlos.

bardisbong.blogspot.com

Bong Is Bard: splash the cold - molly bond

http://bardisbong.blogspot.com/2013/06/splash-cold-molly-bond.html

DO YOU KNOW WHAT SHE DID? Always up to read, listen or think on something new. if you'd like to send your work, gmail: bongbard1309. Jun 27, 2013. Splash the cold - molly bond. We met inside a sea anemone. Those tentacles are surprisingly strong. We couldn’t break our grip as the wave crashed over us. Your skin is freckled rocks with. The splick click stream rushing over. Fish angling through your sand. When I see you I drop my eggs they explode. Into the concrete in yellow bubbly streams.

bardisbong.blogspot.com

Bong Is Bard: FROM A ROOM/A TENNIS MATCH TO LOVE/IN FACTORY SHADOW - John Grey

http://bardisbong.blogspot.com/2013/03/from-rooma-tennis-match-to-lovein.html

DO YOU KNOW WHAT SHE DID? Always up to read, listen or think on something new. if you'd like to send your work, gmail: bongbard1309. Mar 12, 2013. FROM A ROOM/A TENNIS MATCH TO LOVE/IN FACTORY SHADOW - John Grey. You figure the native is restless. In his small jungle of a bedroom. He torn toms email. Or earplugs himself into. A downloaded cave,. Before a make-shift altar. Where his Gods spit fire. Or take turns swapping solos. He does not speak to you. Unless the bumps, the bangs,. That one day would take.

bardisbong.blogspot.com

Bong Is Bard: hail mary, full of grace - rachel seiderman

http://bardisbong.blogspot.com/2013/04/hail-mary-full-of-grace-rachel-seiderman.html

DO YOU KNOW WHAT SHE DID? Always up to read, listen or think on something new. if you'd like to send your work, gmail: bongbard1309. Apr 25, 2013. Hail mary, full of grace - rachel seiderman. Shelly has a preoccupation with jesus. after a kiss or two. She's soft like pure gold, she wears a cross. Around her smooth-skinned neck and no one questions. It she laps up glory. her tongue is a checkerboard. And i have three kings skipping back and forth along her. The good lord and his sweet son for forgiveness.

bardisbong.blogspot.com

Bong Is Bard: ars erotica/from wind sock etiquette/unfinished things - zach fishel

http://bardisbong.blogspot.com/2013/03/ars-eroticafrom-wind-sock.html

DO YOU KNOW WHAT SHE DID? Always up to read, listen or think on something new. if you'd like to send your work, gmail: bongbard1309. Mar 26, 2013. Ars erotica/from wind sock etiquette/unfinished things - zach fishel. It’s not the motion. A chewed lip,. FROM WIND SOCK ETIQUETTE ( 3 sonnets). I sleep in seashells to hear. The ocean. Forget it. Or otherwise, on. Either side of the shore. Spoke in doubled up sureness. The lapping either way. What to watch. The news is not new,. Nor ever will it be seen.

bardisbong.blogspot.com

Bong Is Bard: Happy Rock/Under the Table - Shawn Martin Macrae

http://bardisbong.blogspot.com/2014/06/happy-rockunder-table-shawn-martin.html

DO YOU KNOW WHAT SHE DID? Always up to read, listen or think on something new. if you'd like to send your work, gmail: bongbard1309. Jun 4, 2014. Happy Rock/Under the Table - Shawn Martin Macrae. Lookit dis bastard, Beckett laughed. Ya think he's alrite? He's fine, Beckett replied. She felt as if she forcefully threw herself against a self constructed wall of bricks. She was coming down and getting drunk harder than ever. Her heart raced a mile a minute: that blood pumping Olympian striving for u...Becke...

bardisbong.blogspot.com

Bong Is Bard: Humpty Dumpty Couldn't Be Put Back/Kristalltag/Three Hags Content/Scent of Mothballs/Napalm Would Smell As Sweet - SY ROTH

http://bardisbong.blogspot.com/2013/03/humpty-dumpty-couldnt-be-put.html

DO YOU KNOW WHAT SHE DID? Always up to read, listen or think on something new. if you'd like to send your work, gmail: bongbard1309. Mar 19, 2013. Humpty Dumpty Couldn't Be Put Back/Kristalltag/Three Hags Content/Scent of Mothballs/Napalm Would Smell As Sweet - SY ROTH. Humpty Dumpty Couldn’t Be Put Back. Powerwash the pronouns from Mount Rushmore. No theys there, only men. Unveil the symbols to a Gypsy Rose Lee striptease. Bury them in grandiose similes like. In Grand canyons of poetic flourishes,.

bardisbong.blogspot.com

Bong Is Bard: Snake Meets Dragon in Her California Lair - robert beckvall

http://bardisbong.blogspot.com/2013/05/snake-meets-dragon-in-her-california.html

DO YOU KNOW WHAT SHE DID? Always up to read, listen or think on something new. if you'd like to send your work, gmail: bongbard1309. May 2, 2013. Snake Meets Dragon in Her California Lair - robert beckvall. 8220;Dr. Wang, there is a Dr. Veenum on the line. He says he has an appointment with you.”. 8220;Thanks, I’ll take that. Hello Dr. Veenum, it is a pleasure to speak to you.”. 8220;Well, I don’t know which is worse. There are snakes in New York too, if you know what I mean.”. 8220;Of course, I blocked ...

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The Little Wooden Boy. Doing things with words and pictures. Monday, 22 December 2014. Back fence second coming clock growls low. Offering a fistful of wet Jesus slips. I used to paint the horizon at the embankment end. There was always too much sky. Below, the wharf with oxide fur on barge remains green smears. Crowmobbed heron pierce air to bleak. Hands dripping with autoimmunity. The skin hospital’s lamps. Dead cygnet bones somewhere. And the nest open mouthed. Boy run off by swan in bestial glory.

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