<\/p>\n
For R.<\/em><\/p>\n Last night was all too perfect.<\/p>\n The only noise was the local crickets\u2019 All conversation was up against insect music, Moths were taking off and landing Figs fell from the trees Modern life beat a path inland <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Mat Riches<\/strong> lives in Beckenham, Kent, but will always have Norfolk in his heart. He is a father to Florence and a husband to Rachael, and by day he is a mild-mannered researcher in the TV industry. He has previously been published in And Other Poems and Snakeskin Press. He is a recent graduate of The Poetry School\u2019s Lyric iPod course. He is about yea high.\u00a0 Blog: https:\/\/matriches76.wordpress.com\u00a0 <\/a>Twitter: @matriches<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Kizelbel, September 2004 For R. Last night was all too perfect. The only noise was the local crickets\u2019 nightly jam session in the hills. All conversation was up against insect music, as one lone virtuoso near our balcony sang his own exquisite love songs. Moths were taking off and landing like burning paper […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[7],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-12449","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-prose-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/12449","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=12449"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/12449\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":12450,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/12449\/revisions\/12450"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=12449"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=12449"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=12449"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nKizelbel, September 2004<\/strong><\/p>\n
\nnightly jam session in the hills.<\/p>\n
\nas one lone virtuoso near our balcony
\nsang his own exquisite love songs.<\/p>\n
\nlike burning paper scraps
\nflickering against a bonfire sun.<\/p>\n
\nat exactly the same time as a Muezzin\u2019s siren call began,
\npunctuated by the click of a microphone.<\/p>\n
\nas you beat me at backgammon.<\/p>\n