rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,
rejectomorph
flying_blind

Lit

The first thing I heard on going outside this morning was the deep, soft hooting of an owl. Dawn was as yet a rose hint that tinted the scattering of clouds. The owl was among the dark pines, saying night's farewell. Moments later a cacophony of woodpeckers shattered stillness as light revealed the trees. The chilly air vibrated to life and forgot the feathered woodwind, lost the nocturne's notes. Overflowing, day drowned peace in motor noise and rushing wheels, door slams and dog barks, raucous crows and a rising breeze. Light everywhere, I returned to the dim house and slept, remembering the owl.




Sunday Verse



Cinema Screen


by A. S. J. Tessimond


Light's patterns freeze:
Frost on our faces.
Light's pollen sifts
Through the lids of our eyes ...

Light sinks and rusts
In water; is broken
By glass ... rests
On deserted dust.

Light lies like torn
Paper in corners:
A rock-pool's pledge
Of the sea's return.

Light, wrenched at the edges
By wind, looks down
At itself in wrinkled
Mirrors from bridges.

Light thinly unweaves
Itself through darkness
Like foam's unknotting
Strings in waves ...

Now light is again
Accumulated
Swords against us ...
Now it is gone.

Subscribe
  • Post a new comment

    Error

    default userpic

    Your reply will be screened

    Your IP address will be recorded 

    When you submit the form an invisible reCAPTCHA check will be performed.
    You must follow the Privacy Policy and Google Terms of use.
  • 1 comment