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Orphan Poetry or Paradise Regained: Still life with Romance (Natura Morta)

Still Life with Romance (Natura Morta) For my sister Robin Glynn (1962-2006) My world, if full – is full of sunlight and bees. We both know that Courbet was a communard; without looking down. I hear the water in his painting singing below. A plover calls. The soft scent of not wisteria, The Pollack swirls… Continue reading Orphan Poetry or Paradise Regained: Still life with Romance (Natura Morta)

Orphan Poetry or Paradise Lost: VIII. Enchanted Rock / The Ides of March

Enchanted Rock / The Ides of March I will remember the branches and the light filtering through the locust grove. You will remember the emerald brilliance of the grass. We will remember together the unyielding line of granite that still gives way over time: the fine fullness of the moonlight across our whiteness the vermilion… Continue reading Orphan Poetry or Paradise Lost: VIII. Enchanted Rock / The Ides of March

Orphan Poetry or Paradise Lost: VII. Tishomingo Granite

Tishomingo Granite From the Quarry at Tishomingo Comes this Pre-Cambrian intrusion Begotten when the first rain dropped on boiling rock. Only later to be named With sounds recalling some child’s summer game. These random elements, the stuff of stars Cooled by Bowen’s ruled order (though he was not invented yet) Pyroxene first, then salmon coloured… Continue reading Orphan Poetry or Paradise Lost: VII. Tishomingo Granite

Orphan Poetry or Paradise Lost: V. Dream/Moted/Motet

DREAM / MOTED / MOTET The air is saffron with moted dust. We sit (on a bale of used clothing raised and round as a dais). Joined at the hip, Gemini’s twins but with legs facing out, opposite, mirror fashion. Left arms crossed inwards, left hands rest lightly on the other’s right hip; I can… Continue reading Orphan Poetry or Paradise Lost: V. Dream/Moted/Motet

Orphan Poetry or Paradise Lost: III. Eau de Vie/Spirits

Eau de Vie J’aime bien cette image (ce tableau?) d’un homme nu et beau au bain chaud…ses mains, inoubliables comme ses yeux – les deux, plein de ma poésie… C’est assez á dire qu’enfin les pages ont perdu, mouillé, disparues. Je viendrai et lui retrouverai reconquérir le territoire de chaque phrase, chaque mot, chaque virgule,… Continue reading Orphan Poetry or Paradise Lost: III. Eau de Vie/Spirits

Orphan poetry or Paradise lost: I. Back Garden

Back Garden I wish I had the patient will to unwind the miles of iron spider’s thread that binds my love of you, cuttingly to my best-favoured pound of flesh. I had a dream the morning before I left: we touched each other so slowly that a millennium might have passed before my palm traversed… Continue reading Orphan poetry or Paradise lost: I. Back Garden