Category Archives: Aren’t words curious?

A Saint for our Troubled Times?

Wilgefortis wouldn’t wed,

would rather marry Christ so

willed herself a beard and

bearded was crucified.

 

“Liberata” in Italy,

“Librada” in Spain—liberated,

though in France she was “Débarras”,

riddance, which is two-edged.

 

“Kümmernis” in German—anxious

perhaps, and “Ontkommer” in Dutch but

I prefer the English

Uncumber as that

 

exactly expresses what she wanted,

what women prayed to her for–

a life uncumbered by the

wrong sort of men.

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The Great Heard

Can a small voice compete with the
Great Heard? Or will it always be
trampled beneath the hooves of
heavier beasts? Can it
squiggle out from the scrum and
bleat at least one
word of love?

Chiromancer

I’ve read your palm so many times:

holding your hand on that first date and

now walking London streets; after

sex when touch seems so much more

intimate; even now when

intimacy has gone but your

slender hand seeks mine in the

silence of sleep but despite

knowing it so well I still

cannot read your future, nor

mine.

The Abcess of Absence

He swore he heard her on the

upper floor, or

at the door, her key

scratching for entry from the

outer dark, or her soft

snores in the night,

turning to his right,

hoping to feel her

spooning warmth to

heal his sores.

Fall Fell

Fridayam's Blog

Fall fell through the

crack in the floorboards, and we

tore them up, desperate to

stave off Winter.

Maybe we could burn them

if we cannot find that

lost shiny coin, our

last memory of Summer?

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Mongrels

We are all mongrels:

our genes all spent time

somewhere else, on

cold tundra, windswept

steppe, damp jungle,

hot savannah, in

bogs or genteel shires,

cantonments or kraals; on

Viking ships or galleons,

slavers or dugout canoes we

spent ourselves about the world so

not one of us is pure.

Life Curves

Life Curve

I knew behind those clouds were

stars, just the ones I could see, and

behind them stars and stars and

yet more stars

 

but so what when

life is almost but

not quite, close but

no cigar? Well maybe

 

half-empty or half-full

life curves away from

mystery to the

stone kicked, the

 

moment we have all felt when

our dreams must

give way to a

different reality.

This Aye Night

I heard the first fleeing geese

this evening at 7 pm under

reddening skies, Sunday

September 16th, 2018.

 

Why am I so precise? Well

it was a warm day, one of

many and no threat of

change to weather or forage.

 

It might have been some subliminal call

triggered by the approaching equinox, or

maybe just one goose panicked,

honked out, “Quick, let’s go!”.

 

And we know how panic grows at the

thought of being left alone with

night falling and a

long way to go.

 

At a quarter to eleven this

same night I heard a fox bark or

perhaps a dog barking at the

thought of a fox.

 

Moths

The long Summer, the open door, light

make my kitchen a

moths cathedral, or rather

their mausoleum.

 

They fluster round my fingers when

once they used to

make me quail and

swat and kill.

 

So fears once ferocious pass with the

sough of a soft wing amidst these

fragile carapaces, these

powdery lost souls.

“Las Meninas”

Perhaps when all is quiet

I can make a start

when the maids have

stopped their fussing and the

Infanta has stopped her tears and the

hangers-on hushed out and the

hound cajoled with a kick from

somnolence to stridour but

whilst I wait for your

Majesties pleasure I can

at least paint that writhing

waiting moment before my

painting is painted.

N A L I N D A

P H O T O G

Apollonia Saintclair

Ink is my Blood

CHARLESVAS

Alla ricerca della scatola magica...

Diana Marin

Fine Art Photography & Poetry.

Rusted Honey

Poetry, haiku, tanka, and micropoetry

Turning the Lights Off

Random musings inside my head no matter how hard I try to shut the damn lights off

Southern Georgia Bunny

Adventures of an Southern Bunny everything from dating, sex, life and shake your head moments.

Secret Dates Diary

Secret Dates Diary of Anne Regina

Hannah likes dirty words

Writing, extracts, pleas to buy my books, the odd essay.

word and silence

Poetry, History, Mythology

The Cat's Write

Milly Schmidt

ELLEGUYENCE

New content every Sunday