poetry
napowrimo
Nine
nine is the final number my dear friend
a rounded shape with curling thrashing tail
nine is the final pause and sudden end
related to a question mark in scale
this cliff edge vista is of sails and shrouds
but give this precipice no troubled thought
the view i see is also sea and clouds
i see no reason to become distraught
we all come round again, when we aspire to naught
~~~~~~~~
(form ~ Spenserian nine line stanza….
Rhyme scheme: a. b. a. b. c. d. c..d. d
Iambic Pentameter
Last line Iambic Hexameter with caesura)
Opening a Little Shop
https://folksy.com/shops/FortunesFool
not much in here yet – just one Green Man
and no green bottles hanging on the wall so I am absolutely sure none can fall
Seven by A. Gouedard
Source: Seven by A. Gouedard
Three Drops from a Cauldron: Issue Two
Three Drops from a Cauldron: Issue 13 (March 2017)
Controlling the movement of people
For the mediaeval serf, movement wasn’t an option unless your Lord moved you. If you didn’t like how your feudal master behaved, you could not vote with your feet. You had to stay where you were put, and live and work there your whole life. You could be moved of course if you were marched into a war, but you wouldn’t get any say in that, either.
These days we don’t need permission from Barons and Counts to move around – at least not within the countries of our birth. We generally need permission to move country, and countries want to control who can move where. Young, qualified, able bodied people are more welcome than others. The rich are always welcome to move and the poor are discouraged. Unless we need them for something. Plenty of industrial projects have been built on the backs of very poor workers. From the…
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after the park ritual in berlin
Liked this very much – especially, the gift of relevance
I know the sun is coming for us
I saw it try to mellow out
over the horizon
when we prodded at him
in a daze
remember herren means boy
and dammen means girl
that is my only advice
while I lay under your tiny
body
trying to recollect
piece together a
whatever this
is
when love and loss
merge in some sort of
coughing motion
like expelling
but inhaling
im not sure
I am sure but
if I could give you a gift
I think it would be
relevance
the power of always
I don’t think you are weak
please never think
you are weak
I think you are pure
like the last row of curtains
over a stage
or perhaps a low ley
moon phase
washing over
a tide,
I’m not certain..
– sheila cordova
for Naya, you know why and when.
Pot-lickers of the world, unite!
Like most people (I suspect) I was brought up knowing that there were rules about eating food. One of the rules was not to run your finger round the plate afterwards. Nor should a person sneak out to the kitchen and carefully run their fingers around bowls, saucepans etc.
I grant you that it doesn’t look charming, and ups the risk of getting food on clothes. But at the same time, it’s a manners system that tells us it is preferable to waste food by washing it down the sink, rather than run a finger round the pot and eat what’s there.
Every morsel of food out there exists as a direct consequence of the death of a living being, except perhaps for milk and eggs, where the death of living beings is indirect, but still part of the equation. Anything that had seeds in tends to be the death…
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A beautiful poem
I dreamed there were thirteen treasures in Britain, Not the wealth of feudal kings, nor yet their power, No weapons of war, no tools for control. I saw the generous loom Taking but a small handful of threads To warm and clothe a humble back. The log that burns and yet remains. Come […]