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...
extract from the poem Koi by John Burnside All afternoon we've wandered from the pool to alpine beds and roses ...
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...
What makes us suppose that only the living grieve? Now all but lost in this new and familiar world of tall, leaning-together buildings...
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...
Sunday, 24 February 2013
Dark hair a ball of wool
even with a slight unravelling
its waves hang on
to what might be
a coracle, a
small black pill box hat,
tipped, not jauntily --
behind the head.
Framed by the waves
the shocked complexion
is more felt than seen.
is a work in progress still.
The eyes stare straight ahead.
Only the mouth speaks clearly of
All else about her
seems too spare.
Written for the prompt by Kelvin S. M. Artistic Description at dVerse Poets Pub
Unable to post tomorrow due to forces almost beyond my control(!), so hope to meet up with you all again come Tuesday.