Day Thirteen
An outcome awaits in which
perspective will colour all memory.
Funnel it like water into pools
where it will variously appear to the eye
as silver or black. Bright and dancing
or waiting in shadow like a lurk.
There will be times when recollections
are not to be trusted. A tear that falls
may never land. The touch once familiar
to every nerve will come to be forgotten.
And harbours that seemed upon a time
but sailor's tales may dreadfully appear.
A die of many-sides will be cast
upon life and its infinite horizons.
Trouble caused. The unremarkable endured.
Doubtless, solemn promises will be broken.
Love and loss will at once be percieved
as worthwhile burdens and sublimely absurd.
Paint Poem
Day Thirty I like a poem because it's not like a painting. Because I'll confidently cradle something stainless; hold the exceptio...
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Day 2 Simple fingers to the string What a little thing to cultivate, unreal as it is; not to be seen or touched but felt, enduring, where so... -
Day Nineteen In our village by the mountain, there lived A man p eople called The Wrestler , It was long ago, when my dad was a kid. He - ... -
So, two weeks in and I'm somewhat surprised to find myself sticking at this poetry malarkey. In fact I'm enjoying it very much. To...
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