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- Still Taking the Anti-Dote (to the Poison of Chaos) And an Art Note February 17, 2020
- Tricks of Light I January 3, 2020
- Covehithe Ochres and Gissing Whites: Hand-Made Paints from Foraged Pigment November 2, 2019
- Indeterminacy: The Blueberry Interlude: Cold Dyeing with Blueberry Stems October 15, 2019
- More Notes from a Melody Not Yet Written October 14, 2019
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Tag Archives: Poetry Writing
A few pages shuffled
my hands uncertain
tentative as always.
One’s full of tears
as I am tears, and bad repairs
that won’t last, of remains
of lives that didn’t. But their stories
are beautiful, aren’t they? Continue reading
The Loving Quark
Said Einstein, “into nature look, look deep
and better all things will you understand.”
To look into the heart – the seat
of love – he was, it seemed, imploring man. Continue reading
Every Friday writers worldwide gather round the virtual fireside of Rochelle Wisoff and share stories of 100 words, prompted by a common photograph, and exchange constructive criticism. You don’t have to write to read. Click on the blue frog at … Continue reading
I looked back, sin
safer than flight.
I should have soared away.
Zoar was not far
but sin was nearer.
I was cosy with sin –
a warm nest. Continue reading
The sun-bleached bunting rustles, brittle
as the bell of the abandoned village church.
Then, it recoiled rustling from the black-frocked
village tongues congregated to snip and snipe,
hang the flayed red tongues in honour
of the day of the saint. Continue reading
time to move on
leave another murdering
herd, unsheepishly, unconforming
– I don’t strike
back, just because
I am struck just because
mud makes me curious Continue reading
The Voice in the Wind I A muffled parcel of oak and birch, beech and I, drawn here for refuge. Brittle as bells, leaves peal out – a round – wind-wrung, each peal an end and a start. A silence … Continue reading
The sound of her silk skirt has stopped.
On the marble pavement dust grows.
Her empty room is cold and still.
Fallen leaves are piled against the doors.
Longing for that lovely lady
How can I bring my aching heart to rest?
The above poem was written by Wu-ti (187-57 b.c.) when his mistress, Li Fu-jen, died. Unable to bear his grief, he sent for wizards from all parts of China, hoping that they would be able to put him into communication with her spirit. At last one of them managed to project her shape on to a curtain. Continue reading