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They came in their droves across plains full of gorse,
seeking refuge in the belly of an old wooden horse.
Pavlov’s dogs, the curate’s egg, and Marley’s ghost,
all banished for eternity to a forgotten outpost.

The ploughman laments “O wad some Power the giftie gie us,
if only they’d allow the newborn bairns tae see us.”
And a painting in an attic crumbles then turns to dust,
Proof if proof be needed, big G’s achieved the worst.

A chant from vox populi chills right through to the bones,
“Who ARE The Beatles, Bob Dylan, and the Rolling Stones?”
And in the distance, way beyond the forty-year-old wall,
Don McLean croons soulfully to an empty concert hall.

“A long, long, time ago …”

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Jack Montgomery

Jack is an author, travel writer, photographer, and a Slow Travel consultant who has been writing professionally for twenty years. Follow Jack on Facebook for information about his writing, travel tips, photographs, and tales of life in a tiny rural village in Somerset.

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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,