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Glazed bloodshot eyes, a snort and a bellow
He sways unsteadily from side to side
And with difficulty raises his stocky head.
There is still a spark of defiance in the eyes
Of a proud fighter facing the darkness.

Too many jabs and blows have taken their toll.
Give it up, I pray, unwilling to wreak more damage.
But he was bred for the battle and the challenge,
A fading remnant of a waning era
Who knows only death or glory.

He snorts again and steadies himself for his move.
I shift the cloth and wait, poised to react.
The bullfighter holds out his glass, “another” he slurs.
And I pour a generous measure, inflicting
One more piercing blow to his thick old hide.

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Welcome to my Canvas

Some of the items on this site won’t be to everyone’s liking, I get that. Basically this is my place, my wee studio to mess around in – experimenting with words and thoughts. I’ll be chuffed if you enjoy it, but if you don’t, c’est la vie. As a friend used to tell me “it would be a boring life if we all thought the same.”

Jack Montgomery
A wine press,
On a farm at the end of the dirt track,
The Setúbal Peninsula,
Portugal
E: jack@buzztrips.co.uk