Where I was to be laid there lies another A stranger in my grave next to my mother I had to sell it to give what they gave me To a rich liar who promised to save me And now some unknown lies at my Grandpa's feet
The man I trusted to help me was a cheat Some soulless conscienceless attorney And he helped himself to what was left of me So I travel light on this journey The family plot filled up where I should be
Restless unburied rambler alive or dead With an explanation why I never had before A good excuse not to die But put to sea once more
I suppose it is I who am strange instead Or so I feel today And never mind eternity Now as I turn away May they rest in peace: without me
I want my ashes scattered on a joyful zephyr over woodlands and river, Stevie. You can do the same, my friend. As Marguerite says, it's the soul that counts. Seems like were soul brothers so all should be well. Love you lots,
In the Whirlwind is a poetic storm that frees history from the cages of corruption and puts it in the hands of everyday people. Words are weaved into a new fashion statement that has nothing to do with runways but everything to do with projects!
Robin Ouzman Hislop's poetry is certainly in dialogue with some of the key architects of the 'poetics of indeterminacy' – both the Modernist strands represented by the likes of Beckett and Stein, and the postmodernist strands represented, initially,
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Understandaly sad if it is true~sounds believable.
Regis
God Bless,
Lew