The Knight with the Sorrowful Face
A forest near Seville. Enter PEDRO and DOROTHEA.
Pedro
How slight a bauble is the intellect, to crack so easily. But soft, he comes, his antic mood still on him.
Enter QUIXOTE, mad, wearing a barber’s basin
Quixote
Rocks and stones and trees and grass and streams, oh hear the tale [...]
Posts tagged with ‘napowrimo 2005’
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#12 - ‘The Knight with the Sorrowful Face’
13 April 2005 – 12:26 am
#11 - ‘thoughts’
11 April 2005 – 11:49 pm
I really need to spend more time on the titles. —-
‘thoughts’
I light the gas and wonder how many specks of prehistoric life died so I could fry some bacon for my sarnie?
And if I died at sea and was enfolded in the silt, would there be enough of me to boil the [...]
#10 - ‘This Poem is Not a Pipe’
10 April 2005 – 10:26 pm
‘This Poem is Not a Pipe’
There is a gap in the world where things fall through; bicycle clips, and leeks, and off-cuts of astrakhan, frogspawn, gravestones, and the lids from mustard jars.
There is a place in the world where smells wait; asparagus-scented urine, coal-tar soap, and mould-spotted copies of Proust.
Salmon leap. Flames [...]
#9 - no title (ghostbird)
9 April 2005 – 11:08 pm
a bit of fluff. ———
The ghostbird, ears wide for mice, drifts through the seasmell. One lapwing, startled, wakes. Clouds break
and moonshine whites the waves. A far police car sirens as dark moths twist above the marsh.
#8 - limerick
9 April 2005 – 10:43 am
I couldn’t post this last night - freezope seemed to be broken. I basically took a day off anyway…
There was a young man from Bangkok who had a remarkable clock. It kept perfect time, had a beautiful chime, and at midnight it knitted a sock.
#7 - no title
8 April 2005 – 12:44 am
no title.
—
long is the albatross : the song of men diminishes : the candlefish burn bright : the roses hiss and crackle in the night : a blackbird coughs, splutters, begins again :
the dolls are weeping now : tectonic plates buckle : harmonic resonances pass around the surface of a brandy glass [...]
#6 - ‘O for a beaker full of the warm South’
7 April 2005 – 1:46 am
O for a beaker full of the warm South
Surely sashimi is a haiku on a plate; the dark translucent red of tuna, soft in the mouth, and edged with green wasabi.
It’s tempting to believe that cultures tell themselves in food; to dip a spoon into a gumbo thick with sassafras and claim to [...]
#5 - ‘Crow’
5 April 2005 – 9:34 pm
‘Crow’
Dark as the sky and strong as salt, the oldest of birds is Crow. His name is death to all who live in the trees and the snow.
His beak and mind are sharp as flint and subtler than the breeze. He calls the thunder, and his song is the falling of trees.
#4 - ‘The Thames’, lithotint, 1896
5 April 2005 – 10:24 am
Oops! I posted this over at PFFA and forgot to post it here as well.
The Thames, lithotint, 1896
The river reflects a watery light, diffused through fog and coalsmoke.
On his balcony at the Savoy, Whistler brushes tusche onto limestone, trying to catch the greys of stone and water in a wash of grease and [...]
#3 - ‘why I didn’t write a poem’
3 April 2005 – 10:00 pm
I wrote an oak is a malignant acorn
but the new hornbeam leaves were opening like tiny fans.
——- I really will try and manage something rather longer soon. Harry
#2 - ‘A Lesson Unlearnt’
2 April 2005 – 6:29 pm
‘A Lesson Unlearnt’
There is some stupid part of me that still expects a cigarette to be a cool blue draught curling past teeth and tongue
so after a few pints I sometimes scrounge one and surprise myself again with the nauseating tang of them.
#1 - ‘House’
1 April 2005 – 6:43 pm
‘House’
Above the hall of dancing horses windows rattle in their frames and bishops wager the resources of the Church on parlour games.
The rats that scurry in the chapel gnaw the walls to make their nests; as Eve is reaching for the apple babies squirm behind her breasts.