"Trees are poems the earth writes upon the sky,
We fell them down and turn them into paper,
That we may record our emptiness."
Khalil Gibran

Saturday, April 29, 2017

Valediction

if I was dead,
and my eyes,
blind at the roots of flowers,
wept into nothing,

I swear your love
would raise me
out of my grave,
in my flesh and blood
Carol Ann Duffy


Night Fires
Carol Ann Pelton
Fair Use


XXIX

If I had known,
the day before you left,
that the cold fires of dawn
would never be as warm,

nor that birdsong
would not be written
for me alone, but that I
would hear it as a stranger;

if I had known
you were never to return
with the turning tide
to the harbour of my bed,

nor to reply when
the winds followed you,
calling in my lonely voice
with its plea to come home;

if I had known
the hour of my loss,
I might have died
slowly upon the last kiss,

or saved my tears
and stoked the night fires
with your name, until love
was burnt to ashes.


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Sailing away with Brendan's Penultimatums in the Imaginary Garden.

I am bringing together a few of the April prompts in this piece, with a quote from Carol Ann Duffy's poem If I Was Dead and the artwork of Agnes Lawrence Pelton.
And I echo Brendan's words on the penultimate day of NaPoWriMo:
It whispers in one ear, You're done now, while at the same time exclaiming in the other: But what a journey it was ... I have learnt so much and may still have a few tales to tell.

Friday, April 28, 2017

Conversation with Death

A man feared that he might find an assassin;
Another that he might find a victim.
One was more wise than the other.
Stephen Crane

Source Unknown


XXVIII

And Death came down from his tower
when the Devil knocked
at the western gate, for he
had come bearing a gift:
a child, shackled at the waist
and in chains. The spectre said:
“Children die in my sleep.
History grinds their bones to grit.
What is this one to me?”
The demon warrior inclined
his horned head to the boy,
“This youth is a torment to me.
Long had I stalked him, thought him
unsuspecting a prey but once I
captured and bound him,
I found he had ensnared me.
Only you can set me free.”
Then Death stepped closer
to the gifted child, perceiving
an effluvium of corruption
and demanded his name be spoken.
“I am the World,” the boy smiled.
“Bow to your Master, for without me,
there is no Devil nor Death.”


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Rommy invites us to pay a visit to the Boogeyman in the Imaginary Garden today.