Moonsville

Everyone there has a cat.
Some are slim and lean, some are big and some are fat.
Some are white, some are grey and some are black
but everyone there has a cat.

Everyone there goes about their day daily and their night nightly
where things fall heavily or float up lightly
where they let them go or hold on to them tightly
but everyone there goes about their day daily and their night nightly.

Everyone there avoids everyone there.
Everyone looks at everyone behind mirror-glasses they wear.
Everyone folds away a tree and uproots a chair
but everyone avoids everyone there.

Song ‘Moonsville’ (Chicco Fresu on guitar/me on vocals and drums)

Published by aprettykettleofpoetry

John Di Girolamo was born during the swinging middle ages as the Battle of Hastings raged outside on a cold, miserable Saturday evening just outside 'The Juggler's Arms' in Oxford, Torquay and Exeter at the same time. Born to a family, he spent most of his early years learning how to open umbrellas for a rainy day, and the runnings of horses and sword swallowers and the costs they incurred. Having graduated in 'Circus Management', he took to spinning plates for a living and persuaded his father to buy a restaurant to fund what he believed would be a lucrative career move. However, in the the days leading to The Age of Post Punk', he quit and would embark upon what was to go down in history doodles as a notebook. Few knew it then but he had already started copying poetry, and often written by other people. As the minutes passed by, and Sardinia loomed, the idea of collages and drawings suddenly hit him as a way of filling up what had become a kind of book with pages and all. One day while storming off in a huff because his mum told him to, he struck upon the idea of putting it all together over a long-playing record (later a CD) and during a commercial break in the digital age, decided a blog would end Cromwell's ill-fated republic. Sent off by recorded post, it would be by chance that his poems would get to their ultimate destination as, meanwhile, his pigeon who had queued so loyally for so long, sadly died the day before it was sacked.

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