My grandma’s handbag
carries memories
as well as coins and keys;
not just another thing to grab
but the next lines of a story….
in this circus home
forests of recollections
whisper new seeds.
My grandma’s handbag
carries memories
as well as coins and keys;
not just another thing to grab
but the next lines of a story….
in this circus home
forests of recollections
whisper new seeds.
Peace love is not bought,
it is carried by our choice
to be the circle.
The below was written in a stream of conscious, as part of Linda G. Hill’s SoCS prompt.
The waters are critically high and overseas semi-arid lands become ever-more dry. Critically, promises were broken, made and then broken, again and again, and again. Critically, the West has outsourced the worst of its pollution and, critically, I know why …
No pets, no children, over-priced, damp, no double glazing, Wrong town, but a converted mental home looks amazing, If they let in cats, we’d move to that nut-house on the hill, And annoy all the residents, the rich ones, not the ill, Landlords, many subtle signs question your commitment – Homes without foundation…
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