you spend 8 hours a day surfing the web
and 8 hours sleeping
and 8 hours doing stuff
that’s, er,15,000 readers of one / lots of / poem(s) every suncircle.
And we thought Shakespeare’s Puck and Ariel were fiction?
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Riffling through the dictionary
named it, ‘word-hoard’ –for a word that exactly matcheswhat needs to be said,a word may call out from the pagelike that kitten or that puppyin the pet-shop, which devastatinglylooks you straight in the eye and mutely says‘Master, treasure me…’so, the other day, ‘godly’ called to me: asabbreviated in former times from ‘godlike’;not a word to…
To make of every poem
honourable failure; blazewith glorious sadness:laughing at the glory,smiling at the sadness;but hearing in the heartthat which cannot be said, butis to be ever listened to:unknown, formless, eternal, always present.
The postman who never looks me in the face
has just delivered a parcelheavy with historyand I’m left holding it and wonderingwhat I’m holdingIn 1972 Marina Vlady, the film actresswho had found favour with theappropriate authoritieswas handed a suitcase at Moscow’sSheremetevo Airport by the poetYeveny Yevtushenko; it containedin its 15 kilograms of manuscript,the lifeblood of 245 Russian poetsIt took until 1993 for this to…
A bath when you’re born;
between, a long river
The shy young girl
this Spring.