Roots |
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Roots Category: Writing and Poetry
Light as a feather,
free as a kite,
how she saddens the rooted.
The only green worn
by the winter trees
is that of envy tonight.
...
Posted by on Wed, 09 Jan 2008 07:19:00 GMT |
Through Cemetery Gates |
Through Cemetery Gates
Through thick and fading fast twilight mist and
air, like a blood covered phantom or a
torn, red diamond, a kite moves up and up
and up towards darkening, yearned for, star l...
Posted by on Wed, 09 Jan 2008 07:15:00 GMT |
The Moon and the Yew Tree by Sylvia Plath |
My Favourite Poem:
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The Moon And The Yew Tree
This is the light of the mind, cold and planetary The trees of the mind are black. The light is blue. The grasses unload their griefs on my ...
Posted by on Wed, 09 Jan 2008 07:13:00 GMT |
Miss Havisham |
The following day I returned to the
church where I had left my heart,
when whole, behind forever.
To the place where you had left me
standing alone,
and alone I stand still.
In white I s...
Posted by on Fri, 20 Apr 2007 12:42:00 GMT |
A personality test |
..>Your Brain's Pattern..http://images.blogthings.com/whatpatternisyourbrain
quiz/8.jpg" height="100" width="100">You have a dreamy mind, full of fancy and fantasy.You have the ability to stay forever ...
Posted by on Wed, 28 Mar 2007 16:15:00 GMT |
Out of the Flotsam and the Jetsam |
She with her ancient bucket in hand,
its once new, blue paint peeling to reveal
small patches of red and golden fire,
collects up with eagerness whatever's on offer.
She fills her house wi...
Posted by on Wed, 21 Mar 2007 14:19:00 GMT |
Philosophy of Language |
What makes a word mean what it does?
What if I told you that the words here
might not mean what you
probably think they do?
That, indeed, the intention originally
was they group tog...
Posted by on Wed, 21 Mar 2007 14:02:00 GMT |
White Heron (a villanelle) |
Ten murdered birds about his waist,
I made a silent promise to
never, never tell him, just in case,
your whereabouts, lest he, in haste,
should seek you out and add you to
ten murdered ...
Posted by on Mon, 19 Mar 2007 10:57:00 GMT |
Through Cemetery Gates |
Through thick and fading fast twilight mist and
air, like a blood covered phantom or a
torn, red diamond, a kite moves up and up
and up towards darkening, yearned for, star lit,
heady heights, refle...
Posted by on Sat, 10 Mar 2007 14:41:00 GMT |
Lord Byron, Peacocks and Red, Red Shoes |
Unnecessarily beautiful
and delightfully, perfectly useless.
A brilliant blue,
each feather an eye
to behold, oh you.
No hater of wicked mirrors, you
threaten to steal away souls.
...
Posted by on Thu, 01 Mar 2007 05:56:00 GMT |
