Hold Steady

Conor

[hold-steady]

[hold-steady]

The Walk

Glamoured the road, the day, and him and her And everywhere they took me. When we stepped out Cobbles were riverbed, the Sunday air A high stream-roof that moved in silence over Rhododendrons in full bloom, foxgloves And hemlock, robin-run-the-hedge, the hedge With its deckled ivy and thick shadows – Until the riverbed itself appeared, Gravelly, shallowly, summery with pools, And made a world rim that was not for crossing. Love brought me that far by the hand, without The slightest doubt or irony, dry-eyed And knowledgeable, contrary as be damned; Then just kept standing there, not letting go. So here is another longshot. Black and white. A negative this time, in dazzle-dark, Smudge and pallor where we make out you and me, The selves we struggled with and struggled out of, Two shades who have consumed each other’s fire, Two flames in sunlight that can sear and singe, But seem like wisps of enervated air, After-wavers, feathery ether-shifts … Yet apt still to rekindle suddenly If we find along the way charred grass and sticks And an old fire-fragrance lingering on, Erotic woodsmoke, witchery, intrigue, Leaving us none the wiser, just better primed To speed the plough again and feed the flame.

- Seamus Heaney

[impoverishedsnake]

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On the way to California And I don't mean California literally

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[inrumford]

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[uptownhags]

Visit Original Link

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Lisa Hannigan, A Sail (new arrangement)

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Otherwise

I got out of bed on two strong legs. It might have been otherwise. I ate cereal, sweet milk, ripe, flawless peach. It might have been otherwise. I took the dog uphill to the birch wood. All morning I did the work I love.

At noon I lay down with my mate. It might have been otherwise. We ate dinner together at a table with silver candlesticks. It might have been otherwise. I slept in a bed in a room with paintings on the walls, and planned another day just like this day. But one day, I know, it will be otherwise.

-Jane Kenyon

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[ombrophobia]

Visit Original Link

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The Hold Steady, Don’t Let Me Explode

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[findlight]

Brian Wildsmith

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The Monk

Winter encloses me. I am fenced, The light, the laugh, the dance Against.

I am like a monk In a grey cell Copying out my soul’s Queer miracle.

What goes on out there In the light Is less than a blue-bottle’s flirtation Yet spite!

I would be a blue-bottle Or a house-fly And let the monk, the task, In darkness lie.

- Patrick Kavanagh

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[fleurdulys]

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John Bratby, ‘Venetian Afternoon’