Not quite as glorious as the marigolds, but another picture to brighten the page:
I think I’ve mentioned before that I learn things from posting on this blog. I’ve been looking at these dead plant heads for weeks (and in previous years, too) and although I’ve vaguely wondered what they are, I’ve never bothered to investigate. All I thought when I took the picture was that they were like stars against the evening sky.
Continue reading “following a star”
Tag: poem
autumn
It’s the first day of autumn, and last night there was a harvest moon. That makes me think I should be posting some poetry, but I can’t find anything particularly suitable.
Still, the weather really is quite autumnal today, and if it stays this way, it wouldn’t surprise me if the swallows started gathering early for migration. I’ve had telephone wires and communications on my mind a lot recently, so maybe this will fit the bill:
Continue reading “autumn”
of love and toothbrushes
in the glass beside the sink
my toothbrush
kisses yours
Having come across the above snippet in an old notebook, I was reminded of a definition of true love.
I couldn’t quite remember it, though, and it’s taken me nearly an hour to track it down; it wasn’t Shaw, as I had thought, but Somerset Maugham, in The Constant Wife.
Maugham’s works are presumably still in copyright, so not so easy to find on-line, and although I have the complete short stories and a couple of novels, I don’t have the plays. Finally, though, I have found the piece I was looking for.
Continue reading “of love and toothbrushes”
incubus
He comes to her at dawn,
sweet-nothings her awake
as he nuzzles past her ear,
whispering his desire, telling
how her sweat draws him, how
he would risk his life to serenade her,
to tangle through her hair and kiss
the smooth curve of her neck.
I’m not exactly bubbling over with new ideas at the moment, so I’m looking back over old notebooks and reviewing pieces that I never thought sufficiently polished to submit for comment and critique, let alone for publication. So this is still a draft, but it amuses me, as does the idea of writing a poem to a mosquito. Of course, if you’ve interpreted it as meaning something different, that’s your prerogative as reader.
a perfect pear
We may not be growing such good grapes as the previous house owner did, but the pears this year are magnificent.
Writing the post title – and remembering that this blog was originally intended to include poetry as well as random thoughts – I was reminded of Dorothy Parker’s One Perfect Rose.
Over the years, I’ve received my fair share of bouquets of flowers – though never (yet), I think, long-stemmed red roses – so I, too, wonder why no one ever thought to give me “one perfect limousine”.
Continue reading “a perfect pear”
don't confuse the narrator 