Add some sweetness to your November 5th celebrations with these chocolate flake bonfires with orange buttercream flames If you’re not from the UK, you may not know that it’s traditional here to celebrate the night of November 5th with bonfires and fireworks. This cupcake decoration idea – using chocolate flakes to create the firewood and […]Recipe | Bonfire night chocolate flake cupcakes — Art and Soul
Some of you might see that words “plant-based milk” and balk, and believe me, I get it! I used to be the person that said “milk from a plant? You can’t be serious?”. It just seemed weird and not right. Milk comes from cows….end of story. But, the fact is, there are many alternatives to […]PLANT-BASED MILK – WORTH THE SWITCH? —
Even though these days, anything could be found anywhere, there are still some things you’ll only find in America. In this post, we’ll show you 10 special things, unique to Uncle Sam’s country!10 things you’ll only find in America -Delusional Bubble — Delusional Bubble
Crying” is a song written by Roy Orbison and Joe Melson for Orbison’s third studio album of the same name. Released in 1961, it was a number… … 18 more wordsRoy Orbison “Crying” (1962) — AMERICA ON COFFEE
Girl with a Cello
In a diamond city night we’re
taxied through floodlit streets
angled snow alabasters old facades
medieval histories beyond all guessing
Flanders is frozen outside this misted glass
the two of us sitting nose to nose
our tongues loosening aperitif smiles
white burgundy cutting through brie
making heads light and cheeks flush
and toe touch toe
Our eyes meet when bare soul strokes calf
kissing slim fingers one by one
plied each day to taut cello strings
sneak previews to plots and suites of night
Oh! to be a plateau of spiced chai and drink tea In ocean sips, like tributary lakes flow into sea. Warm sultry pods, the breathed air of elysium, In…Spiced Chai – A Poem*
I’m king of the gods
Generous and expansive
Drink a glass with me
Copyright Francis Barker 2020
A throbbing disco bass
callously pounding my chest,
turning symptoms of flu
into something feeling serious.
I’d dragged myself there
against good advice,
that trashy little down in Drab County
whose only claim to fame
was its fine timber spire,
which made historians
and architects alike, drool;
the sort of town which made
the English feel proud of their past,
even if the present bore no hope,
no prospect of colour. A future
And pride! What was I doing
knocking back gin like tomorrow
did not exist?
Barely able to stand—
but still lord of the dance!
But it was you who held the cards,
the full deck.
You knew what you wanted
and how to get it.
I was the hopeless case,
a clueless pawn in your set up
with worldly guys from the Smoke
who were waiting by the door,
(forever waiting by that door!)
deriding us country boys—
knew enough about language
of the body, its gestures.
The cold morning brought eerie clarity,
despite pain in my head
to match the dagger in the heart. Oh—
you could keep your magnanimous lift.
I was hitching back.
The full seventeen miles,
even if only the bravest of drivers
would dare stop to pick up
in the sick stained jeans
poem and image © copyright df barker 2012