January Daylight
Is cold one day in five, is wet,
Is kept awake by gales,
Is astonishingly still by dawn.
Is grey as a tupperware box, is clear,
Is an arctic glass-cold summer,
Is thick with salty water,
Is shrunken, swallowed in dark, is brief,
Is seen through windows only,
Is gone, with an escort of street-lamps.
That’s your lot for today. Like I said, […]
(Photo courtesy of Ramson)
At dawn of day the apple-thief
Comes dancing in her leitmotif,
Slotting each foot in a previous slot
Made yesterday in the orchard plot,
Returns again to where left off she -
The leafless, branch-bent apple-tree -
And among the windfalls idly browses
Safe from guns so near the houses.
So dainty-legged, her sister-beast,
Reducing apples was reduced to feast,
And seeing […]
Dearest Readers, all best wishes for a thoroughly charming 2008. And hello! First post of the year! Only four days late!
Posting on the first of January was naturally out of the question, as I only got home from my parent’s residence [not a typo, just the one parent at said residence - Ed] at An […]
[Written at work today, while waiting for Microsoft Word to stop crashing and let Reed actually do some, funnily enough, work, and after a morning completely wasted on Christmas shopping - Ed.]
No snow, no frost, again this year,
No ice nor sleet nor hail;
The south-west wind brings in the rain,
The rain brings in a gale,
And twinkling […]
The headache, she persisteth, oy vey. What a bloody waste of a weekend. I shall have to offer you a little more antique verse, while I lie down again and fuss because I find reading even so much as detective fiction quite hard going at the moment.
It is very safe to say that I have […]
What the hell has that Editor been doing? What the hell has she been doing? I go away for oh, so very few days, and she drags out the old poetry files [The turquoise ink files, no less - Ed] and, oh God, the humiliation.
*Outburst of sobbing*
[As much as I enjoyed it, I also did […]
Reed is back tomorrow.
Good, I say. Good. I don’t care for this ‘generating content’ lark.
How about another spot of juvenalia, while she can’t burst in and stop me? She wrote this one when she was barely 18, and falling in love with her future husband. Also blond, by the way.
Everyday I love your absent image
Hurts […]
Reed is still not back. Lord knows what she’s doing. Gallivanting, I shouldn’t wonder, or possibly even frolicking.
But as she’s not here, and left me in charge, I think I shall do something truly evil (heh heh heh) and dig out her early poems. And, oh, look, here it is, perfectly preserved (in turquoise ink, […]
[Reed wrote this in less than 20 minutes, on Thursday the 1st of November, in a complicated recess of the labyrinthine university library, near Paleontology. There were pigeons roosting on the window-ledge, iridescent in the autumn sunlight. And workmen drilling next-door. Possibly knocking Dutch literature through into Law Studies - Ed].
The man is patient, kind […]
What can I feed them,
Frazzled as I am?
If I were more Delia,
I’d’ve baked a ham.
If I had had time in June,
I would have made a cake.
Can’t I do welsh rarebit,
For goodness’ sake?
And no, this is not the seasonal verse. This is fluff. Brought on by Christmas shopping.
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