Hello everyone who follows David King (My Father). On behalf of the family this post is to let you know that Dad sadly passed away, peacefu...
The moon petals the sea. Rose petals the sea. Stone sea. Stone petals. Rose petals of stone. Stone rising before me. Sea moves. How moves...
It all depends, you see, how you go about it. And that I cannot tell you, for that will be dictated by you and by you knowing your friends...
I have been struggling again of late to keep up with my visiting and commenting etc. The latest inroads into the time available for the keyb...
This post has in a sense been handed to me by two or three responses to my post On not getting it. In the course of discussing how a reade...
Wednesday, 8 February 2012
My thanks to Magpie Tales for the above prompt.
It's the prism that she's holding on to, not the flowers.
What good are flowers to the sainted dead?
A prism may have unsuspected powers.
Who knows what truths and myths
they might reflect
or analyse, the way they prise
the colours out of light?
Strange how the hands maintain their contact here.
The rest of her is lost to those like us,
but hands have ways of crossing frontiers,
of coming back from darkness, often drawn
by secrets that they know the prism holds.
How much more powerful is it
than a crystal ball?