The Snail by Neil Howell

Come listen to the tale
of a snail on the TRAIL,
a whale of a snail
like a billowing sail
in the face of a gale,
with a shell so pale
in milk-bottle mail
enchained from its head to its tail.

Don’t fail to say “hail”
to this frail plastic snail
as you pass in the day;
and don’t be afraid
or take flight at night
or rail at the sight
of a snail on parade
in the pale moonlight.

Pray for the snail.
For remember one day,
one September day,
that snail will quail
as its tentacles flail,
knowing it’s come to the end of the TRAIL.
You may wail for the snail
but to no avail,
for the snail on display
has had its day.
It will be ….. descaled.

And that is the tale
of a snail on the TRAIL.

 

 

 

 

TAAG – Snail

The Hole Man by Neil Howell

I once met a man,
a man with a hole,
a hole in the place where his stomach should be.

The whole man marched,
he marched with a pole,
a pole to embrace his entirety.

Does the man have a heart?
Does the heart have a soul?
Is the soul in the space through which you can see?

He is recycled art
and this art has a role,
a role to persuade you to think differently.

Man, hole,
hole, pole,
heart, soul,
art, role …..
all on the TRAIL at Teignmouth by sea.

The Swan of the Exe by Vicky Jocher

Collaborations
Amalgamations
By notions of history and art
Very much from the heart
A wackin' burd
Made perhaps fantastically, absurdly bold
Sea monster or swan
Whichever the plan,
A folly of old
A folly of new
with plastic jetsam and flotsam, orange, white and blue

Harp, aliens, carp and a... monster? by Monica Lang

Look! That harp plays all by itself

No-one’s there. ssss’ MAGIC Mum

ssss’MAGIC Dad

ssssssssssss

Look at the jellyfish

It’s not a jellyfish

It’s got aliens

inside

Ooh. Glittery fishes

Mirror carp

Colourbright dragons

Don’t forget the bags Mum and Dad

the next time we go to Sainsburys

You can Save the Planet too,  Mum and Dad

That’s what the sculptures are for…

out-with-the-kids but NOT SHOPPING  

nor armchairSkytelly content

They drag at their fags and their kiddie’s new clothes

Come away from those women in hats!

from their scissors lump hammers and mess

There’s Wetherspoons only down there

Come away from the sculptings and seagulls and sand

Come away from the Grand Teignmouth Pier

old buckets and worn spades

faded jeans and a picnic basket

chattering smiling laughing stopping

to admire our oh-it’s-a-monster

no it’s a swan

actually.

their children make her more feathers

out of our plastic milkbottles

and take photos