To sweeten the air with patchouli whilst snow falls, soporific, outside. Once more, To ingratiate the land with flutterous soma And soft, somnolent lips kissing grace onto the ground.
(Rinse) Selfless, gracious living organ My skin That I have scoured, rinsed and dried to within an inch of its life. This is not only a past reminiscence But a present admission, A recitation of mental condition. The skin I wear Demonstrative of turmoil I bear My injurious emotions scraped in like cavern carvings. Shards… Continue reading Skin Thing.
There isn't anything, sonically, that connects me more to the outside world than birdsong. Winter can be desolate and deafening in its comparative silence: it is definitely not barren. Among the stillness, if you attune your ear, you can remark the life still abound in the season- and, some, that thrives only here- beyond the… Continue reading Spring, Ruminating.
An extract from an unfinished piece, written January 2018. The darkness doesn't linger too long. The birds see it- At four-thirty, they swoon melodies of rising, At half seven, Sun begins to break through the sleep-veil; It is still light at a quarter to five. The divine gradients of chalk blue, blackcurrant and peach return,… Continue reading The Prize of Paying Attention
The light is strange tonight The sky has a ruddy tinge, tonight- Bizarre how something so muddy and unbright Can make all seem so Loud and Upright. Linear prominence Everything agleam Nary a figure fighting to be seen. The house across the road, number 66, Glass eyes aglow in amber like Hallowe'en. Dark contrast 'Twixt… Continue reading Wednesday, the 14th of February, 2018. 22:05
I adore the organic allure of flowers. Satin kisses from within the earth Bloom as quilted brooches upon grassy collar- but I prefer them in the ground. Forever distressed by the uprooting of living beings For I, divorce-child, know how that feels.
I have never liked the taste of saffron, It sits acrid on my palette; Chemical collusion swilled round my tongue, my mouth awash with atomic ink. But the scent In a candle A tropic dream. Heady-sweet, as in natural spice The warm bite and licorice swell of cinnamon, Like a bath in opulent oils, Damask… Continue reading Tuesday, the 6th of February, 2018, ‘Twixt afternoon and evening time. Saffron.