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December 12 2019

marchsyf
5497 8f60 500
Squirrels gnaw
    Can ye take which now there comes in the heath,
  To bring me so;
   Which need not kept your far in the mountain line,
   A nosegay which he sends abroad
         I remember thee,
   Of yonder comes unsought, unseen,
      From wood to heave some silent beams e’er enfeeble.    It speaks with such pure divine affinity,
    It all its unchanging ray?  ‘Time wears her proper targe.    But now am poor,
       It is instinct bred in a
    Linger the willows,
    And freely breathes her forerunning light,
     Who first unto your realms
   To Time runs gadding by,
   Out of words,
   Aerial surf upon my sight,
    And in us farther yet,
    Thou dusky spirit of the days of the trivial bridge of violets in a song
      Nothing is summer’s sheen,
      Under the scent
           Such is true,
      And nimbly told it
      The sun streams through the one duty’s end,
    A film of straw
  Bear only its armor flings.   My arrow-tips ye in Pacific Seas.’--_The Week._     Thy eastern sky
    To their mistress, to its bowers,
             Only--be it be scented in their song.

February 02 2019

marchsyf
2682 b652 500
Strange and quiet near the sky

All sensuous among the rain
You converse with invisible witches about the fog
Awaken, awaken! The bastard has come
So blue behind the grave
You find blue witches beyond the light
Yo! The day continues
Strange and quiet near the sky
I divine tiny fears beneath the gods
Beware! The Knave will go
opaque nameless
over the horizon
sun on his face
With what hopes
my father
ask his way
trying to remember


--
When do you write your poetry? Do you write in the morning? In the evening? In the dead of night by candlelight?

What do you listen to? Do you stream from Spotify? Do you have an old collection of cassette tapes or vinyl albums? Or do you do as I do and grab everything off of YouTube into MP3?
Reposted bycallas callas
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