The man tree was our favourite.
A chestnut with two trunks
but looking back...
two trees had grown together.
I built a pin-hole camera about that time...
two pin holes for a new view on the world:
a lot of people with two heads
and trees... but this one was for real.
We'd build a hide-out in its boughs -
before the skies got photographic, that.
Old style. One bough became the pan,
the moment blinding us, the eyes
slow to adjust, the skies
presenting proudly the emerging print,
an image swimming in a tray
raised vertically. And then:
an X-ray of itself, a skeleton
some unseen hand was etching in the mist.
And finally, left over from the flash,
a blue flame dancing slowly still
along the hemiplegic tree's
remaining arm. One arm and leg gone A.W.O.L.
Cropped. And that quite brutally.
The thunder was not done. Rolled on.
Somewhere, you might imagine
the photographer disputing about truth -
the lightning winning out, I'm sure.
This for Poetics: Tools of the Trade (Verbs All!),
Manicddaily's fascinating challenge at http://dversepoets.com/
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...