Speaking of a sea of faces. Spoke
more truly than he knew.
Which war it was, is incidental.
As is the where of it. Enough to say
it was a crowd in turmoil.
What else is there to know?
He who speaks of sea or ocean
speaks of restlessness. Eternal
movement at great depth.
Of currents powered by primal forces.
Emotivations far below the skin.
And how cross-purposefulness,
as between the different streams,
puts them in conflict with each other -
and in time with every one,
affecting what the surface says or does;
affecting masks that hide the face, mysterious -
and in the last analysis,
The faces may be drawn,
stressed-out by moon or mooniness,
be whipped by winds
and shallow feelings, but beware:
they break and shatter in a spray...
of what? It's that
we do not know
and shall not know
until it is too late.
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...
extract from the poem Koi by John Burnside All afternoon we've wandered from the pool to alpine beds and roses ...
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...
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...