twitch, stuttered speech in his stone cottage in Ampleforth whose abbeyed choir raises perpendicular majesty over New Yeared hills where we walked upwards that fresh cold day over crisp iced soil and indulge his warm invitation, while metal railway station signs hang above his doorways, unlit steam train lamps crowd his sideboards. We would not see each other again.
loudly chomps open mouth stuffed
with sour, stodgy hard substance
endlessly ripped from urine drenched
fertile soil, sparkly with lively flies
who tread delicately over tongue, lips,
dip into saliva and often eaten too,
by the self absorbed eater and digester
who turns incessant complaint into milk
Last Wednesday’s Writing Prompt was Eve’s Apologetic.
Ocean Current of Life
Knowledge is like that of a strong ocean current
undulating through the movement of life
& can be accessed of books, of people
or held tight in a Pandora’s box
our need to know like the curiosity of a cat
hoping that understanding will follow
& fall into place like that of
a lost puzzle piece
completing the picture of endless possibilities
it is the chord binding us all together
& can be a solace in understanding
or pose queries in knowing
© March 2017 Renee Espriu
RENEE ESPRIU (Renee Just Turtle Flight) is a busy poet and artist. She’s the only other person I’ve ever met whose totem is Turtle (hence the title of her blog), an earthy symbol. Poetry is one of the more perfect vocations for a Turtle. Renee’s bio is HERE.
day 7 .
while all…
View original post 485 more words
one. When with them seems
like crowd jostle,
tumult. Shift side to side,
moved onwards
without agreement.
No choice in their flood
old word 1701, parloi,
term in card game faro,
from French paroli,
from Italian parole (Neapolitan paroli) “words, promises,”
Meaning “exploit to advantage” is from 1942.
parlayed into something greater,
transformed.
My empty reusable shopping bags
are parlayed into full, heavy
with consumer goods,
good winnings, on
a promise, exploited to advantage.
is often forced upon us,
whole wheels of industry
become half wheels in landscaped
idyll I wander into as a rest from
complaints in the head, so my thought
wanders among the moors created
by men with axes to cut down trees.
There is no wilderness here.
href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/photo-challenges/the-road-taken/”>The Road Taken
reflection say as I polish Worktops, my hair frizzes in soft focus, scrub these stainless steel spoons in which these cheeks fatten, kitchen window telescopes a thin, Sliver, a cartoon alien stares back, big eyes blink back flashed through decorative glass mobiles. All aspects. How can I go out When I look like this? I’ll […]
(inspired by Cath Campbell) are in the shape of small graves for children who mine the precious metal inside that makes them work and you look into the screen to stay connected but do not see their gritted lives as they haul the valuable out of the hole and the world has never been so […]
“Our Mobiles” kindly published by Reuben Woolley in his “I Am Not A Silent Poet”
https://t.co/F8NsCsiLWa via @ReubenWoolley
trickles down the rotted brick
water as the blood of landscape
fills rivers and lakes and your head
into a vacuum of hesitation with the rest
of the unwanted deliberations pulled
into transport exchanges with enough
diesel to see the through to the final
stop, before retreat into a midnight
garage of old age where accumulations
of daily dirt are washed away and repairs
done so a day for profit is not missed,
until there are no replacement parts
but birds still twitter outside to attract
mates, defend territory, feed on worms
your decayed body faithfully provides.
