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...
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 ...
Mum! They're changing me treatment, me hot flushes have gone! With side-effects missing, it all feels quite wrong. Mum! There...
A Birthday in April ~ Wordsworth Prompt from The Imaginary Garden with Real Toads (The first of three posts which will celebrate the l...
Thursday, 5 April 2012
Jake - art student extraordinary
A gifted draughtsman - when he drew,
though Primitive with paint.
Irreconcilable, these two:
a mystery to me.
A lack of confidence, perhaps - the lack
that drove him scavaging the bins
for anyone's rejected work.
Before his time, perhaps: recycling them!
I heard it said some twenty artists
gave him his degree,
but I am sure he would have scored
more highly on his own.
He played trombone with a small group,
his first love being jazz - but was prepared
to slum it on the odd occasion
with blasts of modern pop.
He wrote the most exquisite poems,
delicate and subtle, full of quiet joy -
and published Dirtier than God is -
privately - a porno magazine.
He gave amazing readings:
poems, mostly on his art -
and always took the art along
and flogged it at the door.
(Even when it was not his to sell.)