You come apart within me, slightly ill
(Perhaps you don't?)
But just when hard soil climbs
And clings to bark, then you might find
The bathos of a prone pose in my thoughts
(Perhaps you won't?)
Thus you come apart within me, slightly ill
You remember me, yet you ought not
(Perhaps you should?)
But just to speak my form
Or... Read More
You can only buy ten ISBNs a time, not one? Seriously? Must be a lot of izbins lying about unused if that's the case!
I will be buying your book, in case you were wondering. I look forward to having a neat volume of your pomes on my bookshelf.
As for Bouville - it never occurs to me to volunteer anything because I never really know when you're going to be putting a new post up (you ain't like clockwork! ). I just wait for you to say, 'right, spring post coming up soon', etc.. then I start to think, 'right, what can I offer?' Y'know?
thanks for your comments on my last poem I'm now home in the hills of wales
That poem is very interesting, I really like the juxtaposition of reality and either your desire or ideals. Had to read it several times over, as always
my employers installed a new web blocker, which means i can't access sg from work, and consequently i'll be spending a hell of a lot less time here. boo. probably for the best though; i do work for a charity fundraising agency. in the mean time, listen:
i intended to post the Chet Baker version (the supreme version) of this song, but there's no footage of it online. still, Ms Dinah Shore here does a lovely rendition, if a little jaunty.
i am thinking of adapting the lyrics somehow and making a poem from them. i don't know if i would rearrange the existing words or use the structure and matter as... Read More
all consumed quite incidentally; i don't really set out to get twisted, these days, but i struggle to say no "if it's going". ok, i bought 24 beers, and i drink tea and smoke cigarettes quite liberally, but the rest was all passive consumption.
There is a stubble field on which a black rain falls.
There is a tree which, brown, stands lonely here.
There is a hissing wind which haunts deserted huts---
How sad this evening.
Past the village pond
The gentle orphan still gathers scanty ears of corn.
Golden and round her eyes are gazing in the dusk
And her lap awaits the heavenly bridegroom.
Returning home
Shepherds found the sweet body
Decayed in the bramble bush.
A shade I am remote from sombre hamlets.
The silence of God
I drank from the woodland well.
On my forehead cold metal forms.
Spiders look for my heart.
There is a light that fails in my mouth.
At night I found myself upon a heath,
Thick with garbage and the dust of stars.
In the hazel copse
Crystal angels have sounded once more.
That is brilliant, I am jealous. I might just hang up the notebook and weep.
hey dude! yeah i think i'll be back in the UK in June probably...and i shall definitely come play a show in Oxford. Thanks for the recommendation...i'll check the venue out.
i've been completely absorbed with my play, which is now done and in rehearsal for April....so i haven't done so many new poems....but a few and i'll post soon.
glad to see you're back and your writing is sharp.
has anyone seen Terrence Malick's The New World? i watched it yesterday, expecting another mediocre take on America's Manifest Destiny, but oh how wrong i was - it is exquisite on every level, from David Shire's dream-like score to the ambiguity of the title. i didn't even know it was about Pocahontas; nor had it occurred to me that her romance with Captain John... Read More
lmao
are you also naked under a pink crushed velvet blanket? or would that be too good to be true?
it was lucky you had a camera at that moment. i can't count the number of times i've found myself in that same predicament wishing i had my camera...
I'm now home in the hills of wales
in the mean time, listen:
hehe i will try to get the party photos prepped for my journal soon.