Traditions lead to streets of dream
to scant abodes beneath the green
So tiny
'neath gardens tall
with russet stacked above them all
Their chimneys waft of fire's stoke
the meek step forth
though bashful folk
The pitter pat of little feet
the length of Little Street
They take my hand as pipers chant
descend the street with river's dance
Around about
the dancers croon
to every home
I'm blessed ... buffoon
Tranquil glade amongst the heather
sparks ignite
the moods in feather
Flames leap forth as caldrons coddle
tubers roast
as whispers twaddle
Pipes I fill
and pints I swallow
Tip 'em Back ...
their chant seems hollow
Breaking bread
their stew ... yumm - titious
though in my head
their brew grows vicious
Little Street a fading glow
still ...
I was little once you know
The shutters close
the visions wane
the magic shapes to walking cane
Another day
another plane
the child inside ...
Little Street

Offline Rex Allen McCoy

  • Name: Rex Allen McCoy
  • Age: 64
  • Gender: Male
  • Location: London ON CA
Total Posts Last Post Last Seen Joined
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A Taste of Black

Aerodynamically designed
and leaning near the bar
I'm drawn buy your finesse and patience
One step closer
just out of reach
my murky heart grows darker
and in only moments
I catch your eye
Your brow lifts
to hinder a bead of sweat
and the corner of your lip
in anticipation
Just before reaching out
with your firm but gentle touch
my heart fills
with a bubbling
My head lightens
I'm black
I'm beautiful
I'm Guinness
©2008 Rex Allen McCoy

For your listening pleasure

My Hobbies

Reading & writing
Building and showing Hotrods


Here is my 1923 T Bucket


my son's 1968 Firebird

image image

Royal Canadian Legion Member


Rex's friends

Rex Allen McCoy has 21 friend(s)

My Writing

Rusted Smile
Hearts in memory drawn before us
haste display their vesting style
Daydreams shed and plead ... restore us
dancing o'er a rusted smile
Chancing fancies may discover
heart-light cast where sins may dwell
Shadow-darkened skies recover
the isolation sought to quell
Sifting through those haunting traces
ringing round a fading light
Who might stop and trade us faces
invest a smile to warm the night
To the wise that rise above us
bend an ear to wishing well
See the dancers push and shove us
to the brink
of living

©2001 Rex Allen McCoy

My Occupation

Evil Doer for Hire


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