w i l l i a m f o x p i t t

The Queen's House by Inigo Jones

Love is a Battlefield

This is me

We are young, heartache to heartache we stand
No promises, no demands love is a battlefield
Woah, we are strong, no one can tell us we're wrong
Searching our hearts for so long, both of us knowing
Love is a battlefield

You're making me to go, you're begging me stay
Why do you hurt me so bad?
It would help me to know
Do I stand in your way, or am I the best thing you've had?
Believe me, believe me, I can't tell you why
But I'm trapped by your love, and I'm chained to your side

We are young, heartache to heartache we stand
No promises, no demands love is a battlefield
We are strong, no one can tell us we're wrong
Searching our hearts for so long, both of us knowing
Love is a battlefield

And if I'm losing control will you turn me away or touch me deep inside?
And before this gets old, will it still feel the same?
There's no way this could die
But if we get much closer, I could lose control
And if your heart surrenders, you'll need me to hold

We are young, heartache to heartache we stand
No promises, no demands love is a battlefield
We are strong, no one can tell us we're wrong
Searching our hearts for so long, both of us knowing
Love is a battlefield

We are young, heartache to heartache we stand
No promises, no demands love is a battlefield
We are strong, no one can tell us we're wrong
Searching our hearts for so long, both of us knowing
Love is a battlefield

Friends part
forever - wild geese
lost in cloud.

BASBaBaBasho

Migrant Mother

At a certain point of hardship even instinct requires thought if it is to stand a chance of being acted upon. The familiar look of dust-bowl angst is also the expression of endless and futile cogitation. In an era of extreme economic scarcity what struck Lange was the potential surplus of thought this scarcity generated, exacerbated  and, ultimately, wasted. And it is in the hands - rather than the head or the eyes - that this mental activity is most vividly apparent. Even when the heart has all but shut down the fingers are still fidgety with life; when passive they have the troubled serenity of dreams which continue unabated and unsatisfied.

From the train

From the train today
under a peerless sky
I saw the world

Lovers rolled towards each other on quiet greens of unexpectedly empty golf courses

Little boys in shady fishing spots full of excitement

Lilies burning flames of colour on brown ponds

Tall grasses waving softly under the fierce sun, creating their own breeze, their own tranquility

A woman on a boat wearing a bright blue string bikini that clung to her bronzed wet buttocks, preparing for her next dive

A group of youths on BMXs meandering down a quiet road, their youth full of lazy hope

Everything brought into focus by the fearless sun, life scorched to a slower pace under the glare.

Everyone moving through the heat with an added serenity, as they've been accustomed to do for centuries in the deep south.

And the tarmac simmering gently, the lilacs wilting, as I step from the air conditioned carriage and feel the hot air wrap me back to reality in a sweat of discomfort and the plane - single blemish in 10,000 acres of perfect blue - that will one day
take me away from it all

"Love treasures hands like nothing else because of all they have taken, made, given, planted, picked, fed, stolen, caressed, arranged, let drop in sleep, offered"

John Berger