Byron's Pool

FinsburyParkCarrotsFinsburyParkCarrots Posts: 12,223
edited February 2004 in Poetry, Prose, Music & Art
The nights of frost are clear.
Andromeda's vast:
The fens writhe piqued in the glow
And will' o' the wisps light the unlit track
down to Bryon's Pool.

February undecided to be winter or spring,
I make up its mind:
I whisper as my words make vapour trails.
I am by the lake's night language.
Here I'll will a world into being.

There's something I've said about river glimmers,
How moonlit reflections, dances,
could drug. But no: I know now I'm learning
the cipher in the stream
is what you write as yourself for tomorrow:

You can turn magic into action:
Take the starlit water, the pleasant roadside ghosts,
and know, now know,
Love's nature is not in hidden pools of indolence.
It is in the writing of codes from the river;
the scripting
of buildings
of oceans.

:)
Post edited by Unknown User on

Comments

  • :) Big Smiles! Lovely!
    Forget your perfect offering, there is a crack in everything, that's how the light gets in. - Leonard Cohen
  • I dug the furrow that birthed you
    With a little shovel and fork
    in the allotment at the back of the Abbey Stadium.
    You're my spud.
    I'm your daddy.
    You're huge, Sir Potato, you know.
    Your daddy's proud of you.
    I shall never eat you.
    I shall spray you with fixative
    and you can live on top of my computer.
    I know you'll never roll off
    or drop down the back of the radiator,
    My darling, darling spuddy.
    My darling, darling spud.


    :D
  • :D


    spuds... the very staff of life... :D
    Nosotros nunca escuchamos la voz adentro
  • nice spud poem uncle.......
    I don't live today.....Maybe tomorrow?-Jimi Hendrix
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