“This sun is beating down too hot, too early. Can’t you see how this new spring is fooling the trees? They like it at first, unfurling their leaves in premature green, then July hits and they think…
Source: Fall And All
The examination of time and its many modes (ecxerpt).
The examination of time and its many modes.
We are the explorers
Of time.
In which
Our watchfulness
Reveals
A revelation
An awareness
Of life’s turning wheel.
We the silent sentinels
Examine time
Embracing
The glue that alloys
That anneals and binds
The eternal tick,
Hum and thrum
Of the Atomic.
Oblivious to the inhalation
And exhalation of breath
We breathe
A measurement of time.
And dream itself
Three thirty
In the darkness
A stop time
In slow time
When nightmares wake
And temperatures drop
. charcoal .
charcoal. yes a soft substance easily crushed, manipulated. must ensure, i am not. sbm.
Source: . charcoal .
Ensnared
trapped within your words – I have nothing left to say – our silence prevails © Lize Bard @
Source: Ensnared
Crow Art (excerpt)
It is an un-contestable truth
that crows are the greatest artists
of this whole wide world
as they create art from nothing.
White Sheets
White sheets.
Hanging from the wash line.
Is this a wash day?
A wash day like it used to be in the village.
With every house on a Tuesday morning
hanging the washing on line after line
in the back gardens.
The wind catches the sheets.
And as they billow like sails
they make that cracking noise
as the cotton snaps to its full length.
White sheets blowing in the wind.
Rising and falling as they are caught and buffeted.
The wind drops and the white sheets
slowly drift back to hang limply.
The wind rises again and the sheets
begin to stretch out with the force of the breeze.
The clouds break.
And brilliant sunshine illuminates the sheets.
A stronger gust and the sheets stream out again.
Each sheet rises in sequence to reveal the pathway.
To reveal you standing there.
You. Watching me.
Silently.
And the sheets hide you again as they fall
to hang without movement.
But then begin to unfurl and rise
as yet another gust pushes the white cotton out
and you are once again exposed.
You stand watching me with that serious look.
Your eyes expressionless.
Studying me.
And once more the whiteness falls
to cover where you are standing.
There is no movement now.
Just the brilliant whiteness
falling on you like a curtain.
And then you are revealed again.
But it is not you.
It’s the girl standing there in your place.
Your daughter.
Standing there expressionless.
Staring as the sheets rise and fall rhythmically.
And then you begin to move.
A long slow stride.
Towards me.
You move.
Almost as though you are in slow motion.
That slow time again.
There is no sound now.
Your eyes are focused on me.
You know me.
You look at me.
And now rain drops.
The sound of a steady pit-pat.
The sound increasing.
Rain falling.
Suddenly a crescendo.
White sheets spattered.
Grey spots
On white sheets.
Nearly dry white sheets.
Water spatters.
Water stained
White sheets.
Turning grey.
Hanging limp now.
Hanging to the ground.
And you are gone
Awake now in the darkness.
Uncertain of the time.
Lying there listening.
To the rain.
Rain hitting against the window of the bedroom.
Words (Excerpt)
I love the revelry of words sound
words as they ride and are formed
languishing momentarily or longer
on the back of the tongue
brought forward on the breath
to roll and reverberate in the vault
of the mouths vast darkness
to briefly rest on the tongues tip
a momentary and glorious savouring
and then to flit from the bit of my teeth
and freed then thrown outward
on the stuttering blast of breath
the sound of words the dissonant clash
and the smooth assonance
that always manages to awaken me.
Uncertain Times (excerpt)
Of words and truth.
Like grasses bundled
And withered in storm
We are blown helplessly
And not a word is spoken.
Who sings the authentic song?
Who speaks the words of truth?
Who stands for me and mine?
Who looks at what we see?
Who hears what we hear?
Who breathes the air we breathe?
Who sees what is right and wrong?
Who speaks for me and mine?
Who sings the authentic song?
Where are our heroes and poets now?
Rob Cullen
Time
Its the time it takes
A time to heal the wound
This healing time
Fallen
Fallen
Standing in silence
On the stone littered ridge
Surrounded by days
Bare edged morning
As black crows dive
Clustered close to curve
And stoop straight through
The treeless rush
A headlong scream
Launched from the headless hill.
Celfypridd 