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Esparron (D90)

I remember that inaugural night – when the rain gods danced narcoleptic, and the children stood like men buying war with the thinness of their eyes.

#poetry #unfinished #mypoetry #d90???

centuriespast

NINE PROTECTOR DEITIES EARLY 19TH CENTURY

Central Tibet Pigments on cloth

Rubin Museum of Art

anyone lived in a pretty how town

anyone lived in a pretty how town (with up so floating many bells down) spring summer autumn winter he sang his didn’t he danced his did. Women and men(both little and small) cared for anyone not at all they sowed their isn’t they reaped their same sun moon stars rain children guessed (but only a few and down they forgot as up they grew autumn winter spring summer) that noone loved him more by more when by now and tree by leaf she laughed his joy she cried his grief bird by snow and stir by still anyone’s any was all to her someones married their everyones laughed their cryings and did their dance (sleep wake hope and then) they said their nevers they slept their dream stars rain sun moon (and only the snow can begin to explain how children are apt to forget to remember with up so floating many bells down) one day anyone died i guess (and noone stooped to kiss his face) busy folk buried them side by side little by little and was by was all by all and deep by deep and more by more they dream their sleep noone and anyone earth by april wish by spirit and if by yes Women and men (both dong and ding) summer autumn winter spring reaped their sowing and went their came sun moon stars rain

#anyone lived in a pretty how town

Emerald

i.m. Dianne Tucker

On the milder days, we would scan the shingle for untold treasures - The polystyrene mould of a cuttlefish spine, quietly holding a life no more.

The misshapen folds of a porcelain shell, where the tides were always in retreat.

Or the finger smooth touch of a rare green jewel, I could never be told was glass. And you, the Sun Queen, knowing them all as the image of relatives passed.

#poetry #my poetry #my writing #spilled ink #poetry corner

Petrichor

That time of year I may, in you, behold, when the yellowing leaves of trees hang out-to-dry like photographs under a setting sun.

And the birds fall silent with your passing, portraits of themselves, uncarving the motion of dusty liberties finally set to wild.

#poem #mypoetry #poetry corner #autumn #audeu

The Conjurer

On a clear spring night at Dover, Where the speckled blackness beckons, and the slow green grasses go slowly unseen,

You point skyward and say -

‘Hold this as a rose.’

And in this breathing the figures emerge of petal and style and stigma and stem, congealing in our eyes, the World undisturbed as always, goes on: the flickering grass goes slowly unseen. You outline a steamer, ghostly and gliding, and in whisper-tones you sing: ‘We could navigate through the seas with none but imaginings.’ And the uncounted third who walks beside you, always beside, whose name was Magus whispered words I could not hear nor see. The twisted weeds that were his eyes grow silently unseen. And in this breath the figures wilt with nectarous frailty.

#poetry #my poetry #poetry corner #poets on tumblr #spilled ink

A reworking of a passage from Jamie Oliver’s ‘Jamie’s Dinners’ interspersed with quotes from Miguel Angel Ruiz and Terry Eagleton.

#my poetry #poets on tumblr #jamie oliver #home wear

The Open Heart University

we've come a long way said the cigarette scientist as he destroyed a live rabbit to show the students how it worked.

He took its heart out plugged it into an electric pump then kept it beating for nearly two hours.

I know rabbits who can keep their hearts beating for nearly seven years

and look at the electricity they save.'

#Spike Milligan

We lay on the ground and kissed. Perhaps you smile. That we only lay on the ground and kissed. You young people can lend your bodies now, play with them, give them as we could not. But remember that you have paid a price: that of a world rich in mystery and delicate emotion. It is not only a species of animal that die out, but whole species of feeling. And if you are wise you will never pity the past for what it did not know, but pity yourself for what it did.

The Magus, John Fowles

#The Magus #John Fowles #Fuck

#poetry #mypoetry #my writing #poetry corner

#my writing #possibly the start of a play

‘I cannot lie without believing and making believe in language.’ Language has already engaged faith before anyone tells the truth or tells a lie. There is a faith, a strange structure of promise, which haunts everything we say.

Jaques Derrida, Nicholas Royle

#Derrida #Royle #Language #Promise

#poetry #mypoetry #poetry on tumblr #My writing #because

#anothershitpoem #mypoetry #poetry on tumblr #mywriting

#poem #mypoetry #my writing #fuckingmatthew

Woods and forests have been essential to the imagination of these islands, and of countries throughout the world, for centuries. It is for this reason that when woods are felled, when they are suppressed by tarmac and concrete and asphalt, it is not only uniques species and habitats that are lost, but also unique memories, unique forms of thought. Woods, like other wild places, can kindle new ways of being and cognition in people, can urge their minds differently.

Robert Macfarlane - The Wild Places

#the wild places #robert macfarlane #wilderness #woods #nature

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