Wonky Perfection

My right brow soars As the left falls flat deflated. My left eye winks Whilst its partner stares immobile. My right lip sinks As the left-twin gloats ecstatic. My left jowl sags Whilst its sibling lifts delighted. My shoulder shrugs and swipes my right ear, As my hat fuzzes and free-falls to my left.  …

The Stand

    Golden locks matted and mounted upon an upturned tripod. Remnants of a life lived, displaying itself on the belly of a monster desperate for survival, desperate for another chance at living, dancing, twirling – desperate for just one more spin. Just one more stand. Copyright owned by Jay Cool, June 2018

Sagging Rear

Rear hanging in the balance, sagging through the split panels of a garden perch stuck, unliftable, wedged in and permanently planted and fused into an in-law’s trunk. A family tree conjoined – sprouting. Copyright of text & photography owned by Jay Cool, June 2018

Mind the Gap

White-gloved, a flower head beckons and directs me towards the     gap. I look and I don’t mind the gap don’t mind being directed, bossed at, waved over, and persuaded by the delicate, by the fragile, by a neck condemned by one sweep of a gentle breeze to follow, to fall-flow, and to bleed…

Rooted

Deprived of roots, she lets her hair loose, shakes it down over roofs and doorways to other people’s mocked-up hovels. Homes without foundations, plastic walls floating – on clogged-up clay. Chalked-up purples and felt-tipped reds clamour for a hold, reaching up to tug down on strands of twisted cells – on tangled death – wanting,…

Hot Heather

Purple. A girl named Heather. A fine lady, dressed in purple silk, skirts stretched over the wire frame of a lampshade. A fit lady, lit from within. Fit for one’s bottom, and fit for display, but not fit for its purpose. The fine-fit lady, wired up and lit up, is hot. Hot, she bursts into…

The Laughing Barnacles

An inspirational garden scene! Renewed by seaweed cloak, I gallop out from inland home, determined and brave, and seeking to find, the coast, the home of my barnacle ancestors, and my old friend, my fellow Salopian – Darwin. But, I’m held back, my path barred by a washing line, and no feet, no mare to…

Lady Bluebeard

  Bluebearded Iris, courtesy of Pixabay.com Swishing and swiping, my sword serves me well. Bluebeard, they call me – Lady of the swamps. With my parrot on my shoulder, I rise up from the peat, more black than blue – complete with tattoo! Copyright owned by Jay Cool, June 2018 (ex Fen dweller)    …

Chains

  A small chain to bind. An invitation. A catapult. Copyright owned by Jay Cool, June 2018