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grassy field with rustgrassy field with rust
--------------------------

I'd heard about the old car, three miles out of town and all alone. I just had to see it. It was time. School was over for the summer, my friends were at camp, and I was bored. I set out Thursday morning for a hike, following directions that Uncle Will had given me. As the heat was still growing with the climb of the sun, I found the field and wandered around looking, and looking some more, trying not to be distracted by bees buzzing in the flowers, and butterflies and baby mice. Then it was there, just a bit upslope from the bottom of a natural swale, and just below the sky at th

Grass AngelSunsplashed buildings, clear blue skies
No traffic, no pedestrians; silence.
The end of June, the end of music.
No birds, no wind, no dreams

except this one.

This clinical, sterile dream,
Inside looking out
at nothing.

As the sun slowly makes its way
across the sky,
The only sound is the ticking clock.

I'm going outside to make a grass angel.

sparsestark hard beauty
windblown
few things move
few things grow
pipes skirl their wildness in the air
above mountains and water
in the moments of a life without fire
when I can feel clearly
I am born and borne aloft
and truly fly

Lancelot Price 2012 February 06

singularityIt was a country with no exit sign.
Nobody wanted one.

I ask you a question>
What sort of place is that?
And another>
Where can I find it?

TiredI am tired, heavy-footed, worn with wear I wear my hair
down long
Cold air blows through windows trying to nip the buds
long gone
I watch the cigarette smoke whip through the air currents
blue-grey
Saddened by the sun's insistence, shining on a day like
this day

I am rust, I am crushed metal, junkyard darkness, graveyard
sunset
I can't remember when I remembered what I'm trying so hard
to forget
Fire in oil drums replace the sun and the screaming and singing's
begun
I can't sing anymore, like Clancy can't, and the noise in my head's a
throb-thrum

interregnumThere was an earthquake here once.
Then twice. And then again.
And several more times.
And each time ended
Life came again
building hidden layers on
what had not sunk in the sea

At last, though maybe not
the deep break moved on east
the hole was sealed
the island left in peace
a large high ring
not quite complete
surrounding the abyss of calm cool water
that was all that was left of mountain

It was here we began

to build a home again

to make music and beauty

Even if explosions come again, we had our time

Lancelot Price 2012 May 13

grass and lightninginside a paper sky
the more I paint
the less of real I see

Alice wings itgravity is a well
but long before Alice hits the water-covered bottom
and swims to unknown beauties
she learns to fly while falling
falling
past the things that one would cling to
past the anchors that they are
past deluded people who would grab you, Alice
if you let them
if you wear big clothes
with grippy threads
people with those swollen heads
filled with sterile, crawling thoughts
so heavy they can only live
a life of upside down
and off to the side of penalty flags

keep drifting, Alice
keep drifting
prepare to be so ready
so ready for any thing
that you will never sink
but on

in praise of scavengersOh, those crows,
perceptive and wise and with a sense of time and season.
They know how emotional humans get
when Christmas comes.
What suckers they are for feeding the birds,
an act of love when they can give no love to others
The crows settle in apartment block parking lots
the way seagulls gather in shopping strips
next to fast food joints
or hover and flap in masses
on the scrapheaps of garbage scows
sent from the city
with the dregs of living

circusInside the cage, the door secured by a lock he didn't have a key for, the man played Russian Roulette with tigers. He'd first ride one, and then another. Each time he survived, he'd ride another. He had to, you see, for the cage was full of tigers, no clear ground to step down. And away. It's just the way things are.

Recession A man on fire walked calmly out of the building, through glass doors that were maybe there, maybe not. Hit the bricks, pound the pavement, skin a cat or two. I saw what he was thinking, it formed a black cloud above his head.

He thought of old photographs and wicker furniture, of how dark it was inside for all of those plants to thrive. He thought of chances taken and opportunities missed. The monologue in his burning head was a constant buzzing fly, a death rattle.

Old TV shows, bad poetry, seasons, songs and metalworks; nothing could shut out the memories or calm the storm inside. Treading water, he wished that he could fly again. Over

green roseThe green rose glories in the forest
hidden from all but the subtle eye
Winding about the trees
Guarding them with supple thorns
Its simple five blade flower
makes a pentacle of magic
a ferocious quiet protection
for the beings in the wood

I walk freely there

bluesMy blues have got no rhyme
My blues do not have any rhythm
And they damn' sure don't have a key of any kind
None
And sometimes they get real polysyllabic 'cause that's just the way I roll every once in a while
Yep
Blues don't have just one colour, just one frequency, Kenneth.
There's a whole wide spread of Angstrom units available
right down into the red heat and fire that burnt up who you were back in that one time when you were Somebody but you just aren't anymore
and back up high into that purple with gold and diamonds hidden in green trees in the forest when you were happy
And by yourself
And when you were together on that edg

water processspirit-sloth and overdone;
wonder-lost and undercome:
still.
you are trenchant, sweet love.

you planted early mornings-
I lay coffee-drunk and thin;
oh,
the stir of your brown hands.

overcast - with pale thoughtI breathed out clouds
hoping they would rise
and write great things in sky
But heat of breathing billions
vaporised all sense and beauty
The sky became a mere grey haze

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green roseThe green rose glories in the forest
hidden from all but the subtle eye
Winding about the trees
Guarding them with supple thorns
Its simple five blade flower
makes a pentacle of magic
a ferocious quiet protection
for the beings in the wood

I walk freely there

The PillarThe Pillar
-----------

A leg stood on its own in the forest. Clad in a Lincoln green pantaloon and a high brown leather boot. The boot alone was taller than me.

What huge strides this leg might make if only it were still connected to its owner as he went stalklng through the wood. I think it could have been no other than Robin Hood. Master of Sherwood. Little John? Well, yes it's said he was a mighty man and large, but not half the legend Robin was. I find it easy in this quiet green glade, to see him as we wish he were. A giant of goodness among the greedy and gutless who must be surrounded by soldiers to brave the anger of even ordinar

blissI have removed all flesh from my senseless bones
The light and heat flood through
Nerveless, I judge not the passings
Happenings happen and I live in peace
There is no good and evil

singularityIt was a country with no exit sign.
Nobody wanted one.

I ask you a question>
What sort of place is that?
And another>
Where can I find it?

spine spikesThose who would love you by surprise
who would come from where you cannot see them
who love you behind your back
You gut them with the spikes on your spine

Your armour is complete
Even if you can't see them coming
Even if you can't shoot them down
You're still safe

They'll never get you
to love again

Gotham's saviourGotham's saviour
---------------------

Deep in the dark
recesses of the Batcave
the source of retribution for doers
of evil
you could practically smell the justice
Remarkably similar
in odour

to guano
and with just a hint
of excrement of robin

I really must speak
to Dick about that
thought Bruce
We must be prepared
for any emergency

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by *LancelotPrice, Dec 5, 2012, 4:31:22 AM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

I wander much through such old country,
a ghost who's thinking of other ghosts,
missing them and their effects,
an exile from the present, and from past.

seekerby *LancelotPrice

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

©2012-2013 *LancelotPrice

Inspired by an excellent writing by

'Secretive' is here> [link]
Thanks, Alec.

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~pomohippie7 Jan 30, 2013 Writer

Oh, congratulations on your DLD, Lance!

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*LancelotPrice Jan 30, 2013

Thanks, Jess.

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~pomohippie7 Jan 31, 2013 Writer

You're very welcome.

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*alapip Jan 30, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

great that this was suggested by Ron,
and is awarded with a DLD, Lance...

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*LancelotPrice Jan 30, 2013

It was especially nice because of that.

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=Bark Jan 30, 2013 Writer

Hey, congratulations on the DLD!

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*LancelotPrice Jan 30, 2013

Thank yoU for suggesting it.

Big surprise when I woke up a few minutes ago. And thank you for the kind words to the feature editor.

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=star-blazer Jan 30, 2013 Professional Writer

This is beautiful! Congratulations on the DLD, you definitely deserve it

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*LancelotPrice Jan 30, 2013

Thanks, Dorian. And be careful with those Mai-Tais served in a pineapple, they'll get you loopy just as fast as straight bourbon, but they sneak up on you cos you're not expecting it.

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*xlntwtch Jan 29, 2013 Writer

This is already in my fav's. (Congrats on the DLD, btw!)
I guess the reason (besides your excellent way with words) is that I often live in a land like this, too.

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