Tag Archives: starfish

A Hopeless Love Song

Starfish love song

The tide brings us back here once more
Starcrossed starfish lovers
Cast up on the shore
Amidst things that are broken
And washed up and drowned
Battered unwanted and strewn all around
I find you aren’t quite out of reach
Here we are, yet again on this beach.

How can we go forward,
Sweetest love of my heart
Five arms, and five directions
Anatomy keeps us apart.

When we’re apart I dream of you
I’d call out your name if I could
A starfish can’t shout we just mumble
And none of it does any good.

I’d give you my bony ossicles
I’d take all your arms in my arms
We could extrude our stomachs together
Oh darling one show me your charms.

I’d bring you the pearls of these waters
The bright shining lumps of sea glass
Fragments of bones horns of gramophones
A bite from a dead sailor’s ass.

Sometimes we cling to a boulder
The sea comes in and goes out
Sometimes we are torn from each other
To languish in fear and doubt.

Love is the tide that we swim in
That drops us so often on land
Fate brings us back to each other
As we slowly dry out in the sand.

The tide brings us back here once more
Starcrossed starfish lovers
Cast up on the shore
Amidst things that are broken
And washed up and drowned
Battered unwanted and strewn all around
I find you aren’t quite out of reach
Here we are, yet again on this beach.

(It has a tune, but I haven’t recorded it yet. All being well it will be in Hopeless Maine’s Ominous Folk show next year. Starfish doodles also by me.)

Nothing is ever simple

By Frampton Jones

Chris died after falling from a roof. It is, on the whole, a rather simple and uncomplicated death – Chris was on the roof alone, there were witnesses on the ground, a misplaced foot, a slip, a brief plummet, and that was that.  It’s rare that anyone gets such a good, quick and simple death, and it is something to admire and envy.

Or at least, that is how it first seemed.

As I interviewed the witnesses, I noticed mixed reports about how Chris came to be on the roof in the first place. “Chris acted like there was something else up there, but we couldn’t see anything,” Petunia Chevin told me.

There was nothing odd or peculiar to be found inside the house. This struck me as unusual. How does a person have a home free from all traces of the sinister, occult and dangerous? How had this been achieved?

Chris’s neighbour, Mrs Beaten said, “Chris always had the lights out at a decent hour. Always got up early in the morning. Always had spotless laundry on the line. Never buried anything in the garden in the middle of the night. I kept watching, but I never saw anything untoward, and that troubles me.”

On examining the body, Doc Willoughby pronounced that Chris had clearly been dead for at least a week and had probably drowned. I saw the starfish in Chris’s ear. I do not know what to think of this.