(A response to Poets United's prompt "Nighttime".
It is not darkness, nor a lack of light,
this substance night, this quite substantive thing.
It seeps in through the skin,
and has a body that the body craves,
a mind the mind adores -
this sable cloak the heavens wear
and wrap around to warm us inwardly.
But it is more than these:
a switch that nature throws,
a change of mode, an altered state
in which we're newly made.
We're one floor closer to ourselves,
nearer the heart of things.
The senses thrive; the eyes,
which should feel starved, rejoice.
As by the finest music or great love
we reach our dream state, pull the plug
on life, for super-charged realities.
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...
A Birthday in April ~ Wordsworth Prompt from The Imaginary Garden with Real Toads (The first of three posts which will celebrate the l...
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 ...
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...