I defy you,
Or you …
Any of you who are
Capable, still, of feeling;
Not robbed of sensitivity
By society’s cavalries …
I defy you,
Or you …
Any of you who are
Capable, still, of feeling;
Not robbed of sensitivity
By society’s cavalries …
Small, frail shapes
Flitting,
Cursor fast
And confident:
Through woodbine tunnels
In the elf-shine hours, navigating
Between moon nectar cups
And scent promise blossoms.
Stakes are mortality-high
But the brief-held prize Is so,
So gloriously worth it
That resistance is the
Currency of clowns.
The gods who created moths
Never intended them to
Grow old and feeble.
Image: www.jennacartwright.com
26/7/2013
“Strange,” he thinks, quietly to himself,
Climbing the suddenly-too-steep staircase,
“Strange how the world turns
Around a moment in a relationship” :
For earlier, he watched love shade
Change to pity then full-blast ranting hatred.
“Strange, ” he cannot stop thinking now
That he’s started …
“The world is turning around this latest demand”.
He means the single white pill, so tinily perfect –
Balanced like an equation-to-be
In the bowl of a silver spoon.
Reflections come, twist, haunt and pass on.
Quiet desert fire isolation,
Wild, decibel-loaded parties,
Southern belt skies, dreams of
Oaks and queens and
Better-when bad princesses,
White bannisters, warm apples,
Good company on journeys-far-from home.
Reaching the familiar-for-once carpeted landing
He pauses to rescue a breath, reminds himself:
“Those who choose to dance with clowns
Would do well to remember how quickly,
How well, how completely they recover from falls.”
7/4/2013
Adventures in the life of an English allotment
Original Nature Photojournalism
Garden Blog of the Year 2016
Welcome to my world: digging, harvesting and other stuff
for your family
The evolution of an old farmhouse, an American woman, an Englishman and their dogs.
Sharing moments of life + motherhood to encourage fellow mommas
If you could go anywhere you wanted, where would you be headed right now?
surfing my tsunami
blowing through the cobwebs of my mind
Just another WordPress.com weblog
Writing the Wrong, Right, and Ridiculous
Life after the Care Farm
The most Dangerous plant to sleep under is the water lilly
Local History for Great Wyrley and Surrounding Areas
Tales from the mouth of a wolf
introspection & reflection, poetry & prose
Posts about old Hollywood, current concerns
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