Fluttery outlines. Bits of me sticking out and waving around – getting in the way of people, like the flags of countries yet to be born, nagging and persistent, but held back, just for a little while, by the niggles of a half-born breeze. Copyright owned by Jay Cool, April 2019 Image by…
Category: Recovery of a Salopian Exile
Fruitloop
I loop myself round and round myself, travelling in and through the tunnels of meness, racing past all of the thoughts about what others think, in the certain knowledge, that it is my own thoughts of my meness that will, in the end, liberate me. Copyright owned by Jay Cool, April 2019 Image…
Feeling Real Fine
I lift myself up, up, up, up, and away, flying higher than high, and, somehow, it is done without trampling on anyone. Yes, it is possible to fly unaided. And, unbolstered by your underpinnings, by your transient base of ashes, I soar, on and on, soaring into infinity, everlasting and feeling, at last, but not…
Gaslit
Gas attempts to infiltrate via the gaps between flashes of my thoughts, gut the gaps, being gaps, are gapless. Gas, failing to infiltrate, instead up ……………… and I shine across ————————–> borders. me lights Copyright owned by Jay Cool, April 2019 Image by calimiel from Pixabay
Roller Coaster Toxicity
Twenty-three years of riding, elevated up and dropped right down; in the twenty-fourth year, I go coastal, and the sand in my bucket maintains my shape. Copyright owned by Jay Cool, April 2019 Image by stokpic from Pixabay
Mindfulness
My mind is full of the things I mind about, and I mind. Mind you, to have less in my head of the things I mind about would be to be something less than myself, and that I really would mind. Copyright owned by Jay Cool, March 2019 Image by cocoparisienne from Pixabay
About this blog …
A Salopian exile writes her way out of a dark and dingy sandstone cave … and ends up composing her best poems – accompanied by a pot of tea and a motley collection of portraits – whilst hogging a large table to herself, in a Prado Lounge Café.
Midlife
Inspired by the church bells of St. Peter’s, Sudbury, Suffolk. St. Peter’s Church, Sudbury Ringing bells, marking time. Midday. One half gone. Other half revs up, accelerates, wants to be done. I yank it back. Preventative. This half of me is staying put. By Jay Cool, September 2018
On Wenlock Edge
Photography by Jay Cool On Wenlock Edge, Jay Cool’s in trouble. With frizzed-up fringe, the Wrekin heaves; The gale, it plies her old bones double, And sick of Severn breeze, she leaves. ‘Twould blow like this through holt and hanger. When Uricon the city stood. The Roman farts, expressing anger, At Jay Cool’s claim to…
