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...
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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...
The final images below are from my now defunct website which I decided to revisit (cannibalise, if you will) a while back. They are a few ye...
Below is the third - and, so far as I can tell at present, the final - draft of a poem for which I have been quite unable to find a title to...
Tuesday, 17 January 2012
What a good idea!
An underwater Sculpture Park.
But whose idea,
to whom the kudos?
Surface Earthlings like ourselves,
or aliens from Under Earth
who've scaled to these enormous heights
above their Under Earthland
and been inspired by what they've found?
Stone comes to life,
the statues live and breathe
and have their being.
Deep beneath the ocean wave
an ancient dream is lived again...
Or is it simply that sea creatures
have made their homes
the works of art,
and now blow bubbles -
in which case, are they
or do they mean to register
"Up Yours!" - at our approach?
My money's on the Under Earthers,
the chance to swim around inside their thoughts...
How good would that be, eh?
To know how beings unlike us
conceive of what we cannot know;
to know them as we know ourselves!
The sea is apt to worry us sometimes,
what might be there and might come out of it
to threaten us on our dry ground..
But none of these will come,
the sculptures here are well behaved.
This is the worry in reverse:
that one of these might be the one
to tempt me from my dry world up above
to live the dream of water and of love.
You can be jilted by a work of art,
it's true. But not by these.
There's nothing here will leave you high and dry.
Posted in response to the Magpie Tales prompt.