Well, Liz Truss has become a pub quiz question and the tories have avoided letting their members have a vote on the next Crime Minister. The rest of us, the majority, have no say. The death cult staggers on putting its own needs before those of the country...
I was in Portugal while all this was happening. I had a short break in Lisbon, a city I know and love. This first poem is about the weather holding up the plane.
a moderate coastal event over Spain
leaves us static on Bristol runway
the plane doors open
in the interlude three cabin staff
begin the emergency exit dance
to a pre-recorded soundtrack
we all continue to look at our screens
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Some poems take on a life of their own, others are favourites because they are fun to read or provoke a reaction. Other poems simply mark an event. This week's post has two of these.
after the event
mangled umbrellas
dot the marble square
steampunk jellyfish
While I was in Lisbon I attended a couple of concerts. This was unexpected, but Lisbon is a city of music. I saw Mariana Dalot, she was excellent. I leave you with a song.
Until next time.
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