Perverse – a collection of short prose and verse by Tim Walker is only 0.99 on #Kindle for a Limited Time @timwalker1666

Perverse – a collection of short prose and verseBy Tim Walker

PERVERSE is an eclectic collection of short, snatched memories and random ideas that tumbled out of a monthly spoken word event called The Innerverse.‘Perversity’, is an obstinate urge or contrary behaviour; a wilful desire to not conform.That made me think - life can sometimes be perverse – full of contradictions, disappointments, grief and sheer bloody-mindedness. But despite this, our sense of what is right and our collective willingness to submit to the rule of law, provides a counter balance that somehow gets us through.I hope you enjoy this collection of verse and prose - a pastiche of my life, a nod to history and current affairs, a wistful look back, a hope for better days, and a celebration of life and all its riches.
Excerpt
SLOUGH, YEAR 100 AD
We cry and spit the bitter taste of defeatOur men slaughtered and our women weepChildren only remain to harvest the cropsAn ill wind blows along the track to our villageSwirling around the post where a dead owl wards off evil spiritsWe are the Cantuvelauni peopleFishers of the river, hunters and foragers of the great forestWhen the men from Rome first came, we ran and hidWe listened from the dark forest to the rhythmic tramp of bootsClutching our charms to protect us from evil spirits and mumbling the wordsThe jangle of metal, the cries in a foreign tongue as they approachedThrough our wooden gateway into our stockade ringed with sharpened stakesThat keep out the animals of the forest and deter other tribesBut not the men from Rome, wherever that may be - A new name for hell, perhaps.They scattered the fowl and pigs and yapping dogs soon cowered and whimperedTheir Trinovante guide tells our headman they will pave our road to make it strongWhat is a road? Our grey-haired leader asks.The narrow tracks that connect our villages have been there since the dawn of timeGiven to us by our mother, Brigantia, who whispers to us in the windBut now our conquerors will make use of them to keep us at heelThey will put flattened rocks on a stony pathway to connect their forts.They are here to stay.
Our druid tells us not to be afraidBut he runs to hide in the forest whenever they approachOur young men come to visit and stand proud and tallDressed in the Roman fashion in toga and sandals of leatherWe laugh and hug them and covet their shoesThe Romans have taught them their ways and they can read their symbols.They show the boys how to catch fish in netsTheir laughter entwines with the splash and flash of silver as they take turns to cast itSmall stones dragging it to the depths where sits Father Tamesis, waitingOur mighty river flows from before the dawn of menThat feeds and refreshes us and receives our offeringsIt never lies nor betrays, but sometimes takes one of usWe are the new slaves of Rome but one day will be freeThe rushing flow carries our hopes to the sea of lifeThey command us but they will never own our souls.
Only 0.99 on Kindle for a Limited Time.Amazon
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Tim Walker

Connect with Tim: Website • Amazon Author Page • Facebook • Twitter.
Published on March 31, 2020 20:30
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