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The Pheasant’s Lament

The taste of tarmac is addictively sweet
Is my one and only explanation
Why a blend of tar, stone, and sand,
Can lead so many straight to damnation.

Tarmac is so irresistible, a magnetic attraction
That even a Pope was seduced by its lure.
Reacting like a Siren had cried out his name
Testing arthritic hips as he dropped to the floor.

What enchanting ingredients must it contain
To draw beasts from the land in such haste?
Eager to leave nature’s protective hands
And risk all for one brief, enticing taste.

The long, winding road is littered with addicts
Caught by surprise as they pecked at the grit.
Flesh and bone tombstones, the mangled remains
Of suicidal creatures seeking one deadly last hit.

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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,