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...
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...
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...
Tom Lubbock, writing in The Independent (friday 15 May 2009) returned to the age old topic of censorship in the arts. Well, in painting act...
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...
Thursday, 21 March 2013
A place for everything,
my mother said,
and everything in its place.
But not so easy when
and spill out of their space,
when trees take root
where chairs alone should stand.
This is a concertina world...
the sun glides round, and as it moves,
light's bellows play
their silent, visual tunes:
a maple leaf, four jonquil blooms,
two maple leaves, an orchid (blue),
an orchid (white), two candle flames,
a chair back and a cushion. Stop.
Move self or head, stand up, sit
down. Relax. Move back. An image moves,
sets off a one-arm-bandit sort of roll.
Then STOP! and fancy that
you hear the fall of coins.
All things are possible
where shadows fall
on rays of light.
This palimpsest of rooms has several keys.
The subject was set as prompt by Peggy Goetz at Poetry Jam