Paintings now at
A Bawling Dream
Packed in blinding hot boxes on wheels
Stolen away; a breath a day
Gasping in unison with choked birds singing
Thinking of black and white cover photos
Tunes tinkling distant;
As whistling balloons are rising.
Picturing copper sulphate skies
As tubes of tales smelt the fire with an evening sunset.
Waves washing, windows tears
Just holding a fantasy:
Mad to see, the smiling faces.
Droplets from above; meeting the streams below
Demanding attention not seeking.
Grinding stones, wrapped in solar dust:
For shining trinkets
Swaying in buckets
Piled in stadiums
To haunt the memory
A palace of misfortune
To make apprehension a norm
A day to day storm brewing
December 3rd 2017
Patrick Turner-Lee Copyright