Hornsey Blossom

In Hornsey, N8
under a cable post
sitting
as the smart soles of a lady in black
slap past.
‘That’s fuckin’ stupid,’
she intones to her phone noisily
with
‘Why wouldja do that?’
Annoying woman
think I.Whoa!
Hang on!
Hit pause!
Let her Be!I scold
ticking myself off.
From across the street
an exquisite pink blossom
releases herself from a cherry tree
gliding
closer and closer.
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Quinn’s

In pubs with bar flies.
Kronenburg, Becks, Carling, Stella Artois and Fosters,
Dancing in our blood,
Utterly inured; we are endured by all:
The solipsism most profound.

And when Johnnie, Jack and Jameson join,
The sentimental and the morbid
Are conjoined.

And damn!
In the custody of beer halls,
The shadows that draw, fade,
And calls – e’en Death’s! — are put on hold,
No time; instead, before the last, another pint.

For in this hallowed inn,
Drinking what’s in the glass,
And espousing the glow within,
Cares regress.

No woes,
Or loaded psyches,
For when the pressure builds,
The best: a jet of yellow bliss,
Relieves the pain,
On Armitage Shanks’ porcelain.

 

 

Quinn's

 

 

Hashish

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I came upon a reference to this book at the Cruising Association’s marine library in London’s Limehouse. It was in a pilot for the Red Sea and it has taken me until now to find a copy. It was worth the wait.
Tintin and Malto Cortes were influenced by Henry de Monfried, an adventurer sailor and later a prolific writer. It was great to discover one of their original sources.
This is a fantastic adventure yarn with descriptions of natural occurrences that are often as beautiful as they are wild. Monfried was an elegant and entertaining writer and possessed of a wisdom that is Oriental, even while he is a very modern man.
You learn much about the Arabian Red Sea from Djibouti, Aden, and then on past Eritrea, and Yemen to Egypt. He writes of a time before World War II that is accessible and human, full of conceit and treachery but also of courage and nobleness where disaster is never far off.

A warm story teller, illuminating a reality of — as yet! — not fully exploited potential, which he strode in the best tradition of Sinbad the Sailor; utterly captivating.

See the book at https://store.kobobooks.com/en-GB/ebook/hashish?utm_campaign=BookReviewAdr&utm_medium=Social&utm_source=App_Acq #KoboReview #BookReview

Knows

I awoke,
With Mountains in their heights,
That spoke,
Of memories that wove,
Through knees, thighs and pubic bone —
To the inky waters of the lake below.

In that cabin, where the sable pines
Enclose,
And all about,
From coral-white
To grayish, turquoise-blue,
Snow.

That scene:
On the edge,
Where the stillness
Knows.

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