Psychogeographical Map of Romsey
The KeyAlong the back of our house runs an unpaved alleyway,wriggling out an existence in the gap between the backgardens and the allotments beyond.a scrubby, overgrown, wasteland sort of place.Sometimes it feels like a country lane,at others it is downright strange.People at twilight appear out of the bramble bushesin bizarre costumes, they always say hello in a familiar way but have disappeared into the unlit gloom as you turn back to look.I once wrote a poem about it called The Alley Way Between The Worlds, but I’ve lost the poem. Lost or misplaced or whisked away by those pesky fairies. Bella Basura 2013
The Key
Along the back of our house runs an unpaved alleyway,
wriggling out an existence in the gap between
the backgardens and the allotments beyond.
a scrubby, overgrown, wasteland sort of place.
Sometimes it feels like a country lane,
at others it is downright strange.
People at twilight appear out of the bramble bushes
in bizarre costumes, they always say hello in a familiar way
but have disappeared into the unlit gloom as you turn back to look.
I once wrote a poem about it called The Alley Way Between The Worlds,
but I’ve lost the poem. Lost or misplaced or whisked away by those pesky fairies.
Bella Basura 2013