After the apparent popularity of the two splendid beasts in my previous post, I looked through my files to see if I had any more.
Not only is this an impressive animal, but I’ve even found a poem that mentions unicorns to post with it. I am shocked, though, to realise that I wrote it nine years ago and I have done nothing with it.
Continue reading “more mythical beasts”
Yesterday‘s narrator had all she wished for, which might be why the poem was so short. Today’s narrator doesn’t, though she seems to have realised that wishing on a star won’t help:
Perseids
The night I met you fire flared in the skies
and seams of gold were visible across
the coalmine dark. Nature had purged the dross
of normal life, it seemed. We raised our eyes
to watch with joy as stars fell round about:
each one a dream of summer love, a wish,
each an unspoken promise, each a kiss
that fanned desire and silenced truth and doubt.
And so we boldly told each other lies,
pretending to believe they could come true;
we watched those stars like lovers, though we knew
that we could not escape existing ties.
At heart, we knew the stars are fixed, not free,
set in their courses, much like you and me.
Watching shooting stars,
your arm around my shouldersNo need for wishes
For those who are looking for more perseids, I posted a few other pieces on the subject of shooting stars this time last year.
It’s not exactly the sort of word that crops up in childhood conversation, so I’m pretty sure I must have read it. Which could either have been in a story or in a poem. Or, I suppose, at Christmas, when we “deck[ed] the halls with boughs of holly”. Perhaps that’s the most likely, as would explain how I learned to pronounce it, too.
The word ‘bough’ probably crops up in plenty of older stories and poems, but how much new writing contains such words?
Continue reading “Khayyam, again, and disappearing words”
When I realised the date, it occurred to me that perhaps some of the members would have better things to do than sit around discussing poetry. Then again, perhaps poets are most inspired when crossed in love, so it should have come as no surprise that there was the biggest turn out yet for the group.
Continue reading “lovelorn poets”
don't confuse the narrator 