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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extract from the poem Koi by John Burnside All afternoon we've wandered from the pool to alpine beds and roses ...
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...
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Sunday, 15 July 2012
France and all things French
For Manicddaily's Poetics : a French Twist at dVerse Poets.
have always formed
my effigies of France and all things French,
my private iconography:
Brie and Balzac by The Eiffel Tower.
Lovely jubbly - which reminds,
soon hopefully to be
Champagne and Claret in the Champs Elysées
when Wiggins - or when Froome -
have won the Tour de France,
the greatest sporting conquest
that the world has ever seen
by many an Alpine climb.
It was not alway so...
all those years of thinking we'd done well
just having someone IN the thing!
But even in my bike race days
it was not always so for me:
French Art was tops.
France was my Bohemian,
the child who didn't take to rules
and didn't fear the rod.
Macon in Montmartre would have been the job.
And after that it would have been
French kissing followed by French letters.
These are the images of France
that have made my juices run.