February 2012
1 post
10 tags
Wherefore my heart leaps within me,
my mind roams with the waves
over the whale’s domain, it wanders far and wide
across the face of the earth, returns again to me,
eager and unsatisfied; the solitary bird screams,
irresistible, urges the heart to the whale’s way
over the stretch of the seas.
~ From The Seafarer, anonymous Anglo-Saxon poem.
January 2012
17 posts
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Death I
Cure death’s skin
till it smells like leather
and feels like chamois.
Wear it this winter.
Just
don’t let the corpse
get up
and wear you.
~ Dorothy Porter, from ‘Other Worlds’
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Blodeuwedd
You’ve heard, if not seen me, flying
as the light fades in all the places
they gathered flowers to make me:
pineapple broom from the heath;
creamy umbels of meadowsweet;
pale green blooms of the oak.
They gave me as wife to a man
cursed not to marry a woman of flesh.
His fingers touched me like frost.
I fell for a lover fierce as a bee
seeking me out for what I was:
lips,...
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my brightest diamond - the sea →
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chai tea recipe →
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The Song of Wandering Aengus
I went out to the hazel wood,
because a fire was in my head,
and cut and peeled a hazel wand,
and hooked a berry to a thread;
and when white moths were on the wing,
and moth-like stars were flickering out,
I dropped the berry in a stream,
and caught a little silver trout.
When I had laid it on the floor
I went to blow the fire aflame,
but something rustled on the floor,
and someone...
9 tags
December 2011
3 posts
4 tags
o, but the mockers' cry
O, but the mockers’ cry
makes my heart afraid,
as though a flute of bone
taken from a heron’s thigh,
a heron crazed by the moon,
were cleverly, softly played.
~ W.B Yeats, 1921.
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He hears the cry of the sedge
I wander by the edge
of this desolate lake
where wind cries in the sedge:
until the axle break
that keep the stars in their round,
and hands hurl in the deep
the banners of East and West,
and the girdle of light is unbound,
your breast will not lie by the breast
of your beloved in sleep.
~ W.B Yeats, May 1898.
November 2011
15 posts
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the sacrifice
we feed him milk
from a silver bowl;
brush his hide
until it shines like moon.
~ Vicki Feaver
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the 200 year old love letter that time forgot →
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September 2011
2 posts
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birdsong - janet laurence →
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August 2011
9 posts
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the white-haired potters →
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macabre tea →
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beauty of the 1920s: ziegfeld follies →
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white chalk →
perhaps a little too much echo in the song, but the set is dreamy
July 2011
26 posts
10 tags
kinfolk magazine →
beautiful publication about loved ones and food!
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