About the Artist
Gallery
Drawings and Paintings
Writing
Sales
Contact Us
Music
Writing
Newtown
By F.J Herbert
It's a place where the green haired moles
Oft' emerge from the underground
And skinheads in army coats
Will march like they're on prowl.
It's a place where the white faced dolls
In duffel coats congregate -
They'll dance to their Vespa's songs
Till the wee hours of any morn'
It's a place where the beer boys brawl
And laugh in the well tiled pubs
And strike home with well placed darts
And spend all their hard earned pays.
It's a place where the Indians stir
At the hot pots of curried meats
And the oyster men dart about
With their baskets of bottled stuff
It's a place where the tattered
rags
Masquerade as the fashion's style
And the moth eaten velvet skirts
Are worn down to ankle's length.
It's a place where the wizards dwell
In their dust laden fancy shops
Where they'll drag out the Tarot cards
Or uncover the crystal ball.
It's a place where the art works float
Like some gems in the spot lit air
And the gypsy gangs play the fools
Though the trawler comes cruisin' by.
It's a place where the odd balls reign
Under neons and flashing lights
With McDonalds 'bout the only trace
Of the world of the outside straights.
Examples of my science fiction writing
and poetry can be found under
E Books store