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The Camden Market Free Art Man 21st June 2026
Two requests in two days. The day before, on Saturday, Tina asked me for a painting of Camden Lock bridge for her daughter. I agreed to both and hope to have them ready for this weekend, although rain is forecast for both Saturday and Sunday, so it’ll likely be the weekend after. Further plans were…
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A middle aged song,
it’s been made with a groan.
After all, they say your head is where it goes to.
You’re in my arms.Indiscreet industry.
Wrongly identified embryo.
In the roaring night we said we are in arms,
when we groan.On this leyland moss, it’s mossy.
On this leyland moss, it came at such a cost.
On this leyland moss.
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I’m not a window to your brain.
So why do we feel this stained?
As his wife repeats his name.Some of those were wrong.
Over hills belong.
Life a comfort chore.Unlike a turn out now.
I’m known to ride around
a varied vacant sound.With your looks and my brains,
it’s a failure of things that we name.
What are phase of friendships for?The greasy and undressed
make the same request.
A labour of like we test.
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Wind blows ravaging time.
I can hardly make up my mind.
If I’m a war pig now.
Bingo, bango, bungo.
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It was made, it was made, it was almost here.
But they cut him from the trunk.
Come and laugh at the old maid dear.
He was almost true.He was fed, he was fed, by the old maid dear.
Each hour through the night she cared.
But the farmer killed him in front of the old maid dear.
He was a farmer true.She was buried by the farmer the following year.
Her hurt he never knew.
Come in died, then you’re in tide.
I would rather anew.The end.
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It was break of morn.
Birds were singing their yawn.
They weren’t in fur, my Marie.It fit the feel.
You’re in for the kill.
They wrote it in for Lynn.
Edgeworth Johnstone 