By a flower-- By a letter

Merely a vessel to my Wander

[sweetpirateoftheheart]

more pressings

Some from last months blooms, found on afternoon walks

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abscence

my lack of inspiration is quite due to an unexpected cold. it’s funny what the change in season can bring. here are some pressings.

[sweetpirateoftheheart]

restless

my wick grows short and my inkwell will need filling but for now I write to distract from the nightmares that prowl within the promise of sleep

A darting fear — a pomp — a tear — A waking on a morn To find that what one waked for, Inhales the different dawn.

[sweetpirateoftheheart]

earnest

I write this as I watch the postman collect and deliver our letters. How curious to watch him bear so lightly what will weigh on my soul until the unknown amount of time passes

[sweetpirateoftheheart]

into the fray

On a whim, perhaps driven for a desire of validation- even perhaps something as simple as perception- I have submitted a selection of my writings to The Abolitionist.

Assuredly he sees thousands of entries and mine shall pass over his desk without incident or notice as many before me have. 

That is the best I can hope for. I am unsure what my response might be if he responds critically. 

Perhaps Brother scoffing over my scrawling has steeled me for this.

[sweetpirateoftheheart]

before i retire

Some older flower pressings I enjoy from when I first began

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prose

Again, I aim to merely preserve my writing that I might come back and pour over it in frustration...

A Door just opened on a street — I — lost — was passing by — An instant's Width of Warmth disclosed — And Wealth — and Company. The Door as instant shut — And I — I — lost — was passing by — Lost doubly — but by contrast — most — Informing — misery —

[sweetpirateoftheheart]

more pressings

The lily was quite difficult

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prose

A Coffin — is a small Domain, Yet able to contain A Citizen of Paradise In it diminished Plane. A Grave — is a restricted Breadth — Yet ampler than the Sun — And all the Seas He populates And Lands He looks upon To Him who on its small Repose Bestows a single Friend — Circumference without Relief — Or Estimate — or End —

[sweetpirateoftheheart]

arrival

A Letter is a joy of Earth — It is denied the Gods —

[sweetpirateoftheheart]

pressings

Here are some of my most recent pressings. I am pleased with the way these held their colour during the process.

[sweetpirateoftheheart]

bleak beginnings

I write here, not for a sense of beginning a thing that might come to bear fruit, but for fear of its quickly withering leaves and rapidly waning blossoms. Much like the careful act of pressing flowers for the herbarium, I lay prose and thought here.

At the advice of The Abolitionist I should ‘charge my prose with life.’ I had not thought my prose to be dead, or lay dying until they, and my ‘general air’ were described as bleak. Brother follows father greatly in a scorn for ‘sensibilities’ and my poetry, which I have not shared at will, is described by him as ‘muddled’ and ‘full of whining’

Never the less I press