Blue
Blue floats and hovers
it never comes to rest
its scent is distant bonfires
its touch moth-breath
Blue is man-child
with spiritual eyes
a stranger in a room
who isn't one
soft down on upper lip
felt without touch
it is dreaming at night
of what is not and cannot be
it is gauze-vision
half-reality
it is a shaky signature
on a typewritten page
seen through mist
Blue is pain that is borne alone
it is quena music
bone-notes quavering over absent flesh
in death worship
yawns are for want of blue
and partially for having it
Blue is pigeons
and siamese cats
and snow shadows
it is for ever
stretching
it is ten billion spindles
weaving blue fabric endlessly
it is the certain
uncertainty
(Nov.2004)
(Senneville, Québec)
it never comes to rest
its scent is distant bonfires
its touch moth-breath
Blue is man-child
with spiritual eyes
a stranger in a room
who isn't one
soft down on upper lip
felt without touch
it is dreaming at night
of what is not and cannot be
it is gauze-vision
half-reality
it is a shaky signature
on a typewritten page
seen through mist
Blue is pain that is borne alone
it is quena music
bone-notes quavering over absent flesh
in death worship
yawns are for want of blue
and partially for having it
Blue is pigeons
and siamese cats
and snow shadows
it is for ever
stretching
it is ten billion spindles
weaving blue fabric endlessly
it is the certain
uncertainty
(Nov.2004)
(Senneville, Québec)
Philippa Lane
Disappointment
Plans are shattered, hopes lost
Amid a tangle of resentful thoughts:
The mind receives a dulling thud
For its excited time has all been spent
For naught.
Only the anguish left behind
Can remind us of the void within,
And so we force a smile to show
We do not mind, and hide
With desperate care, our vacant soul
And dare forget the disappointment.
Amid a tangle of resentful thoughts:
The mind receives a dulling thud
For its excited time has all been spent
For naught.
Only the anguish left behind
Can remind us of the void within,
And so we force a smile to show
We do not mind, and hide
With desperate care, our vacant soul
And dare forget the disappointment.
Philippa Lane
Submitted: Wednesday, March 23, 2005
Edited: Saturday, May 01, 2010
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