First woodwork lesson in my new school.
Mr Woodiwiss - apt name! - is asking
What would you would like to make?
An execution block, I say.
(The block is for my Uncle Bill.)
Reputation would suggest
sir should roar displeasure,
vault the bench perhaps,
throw something my direction.
he does not even take exception,
sits talking ways and means with me.
A word of explanation:
why an execution block for Uncle Bill?
To help him with his Christmas role:
The Lord High Executioner of Turkeys on the lawn.
And he comes THIS close to using it
(My thumb and forefinger
all but touch. I hold them up.)
Dark night. The only light
streams from the bathroom window.
The turkey's neck is on the block,
the hatchet raised
the light goes out.
The pitch-dark night
turns lighter shades of blue
as Uncle's language spills into it.
But Uncle Bill's performance
more disappointing one.
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...
extract from the poem Koi by John Burnside All afternoon we've wandered from the pool to alpine beds and roses ...
A Birthday in April ~ Wordsworth Prompt from The Imaginary Garden with Real Toads (The first of three posts which will celebrate the l...
What makes us suppose that only the living grieve? Now all but lost in this new and familiar world of tall, leaning-together buildings...