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Brunswick
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Saturday, April 26, 2014
Friday, April 18, 2014
Asemetry?
You saw it here first. I got interested in things that looked like writing. I took a lot of photos, like this one of insect tunnels under the bark on a fallen tree that I called "cursive." It's in vogue now among poets as "asemic writing"-- writing without a meaning content. I once challenged a poetry workshop to write a poem without any meaning. The results of that were interesting, too.
Thursday, April 17, 2014
Tuesday, April 8, 2014
From the First "Paint the Town" April 8, 2014
When the new green wind cowls the waves into caves,
The ancient bones of ships and slaves,
Gleaming like iv'ry and rattling close,
Are sliding and nudging the floor of the sea.
Back to the deep,
Back to the deep,
Swept from our minds to scream and weep.
When the watery curls of bay and sand
Slip into pools and cover the land,
The mist strides out from the fading dark
and snatches the dawn and the moon in her hand.
Walks in the sand,
Walks in the sand
She squeezes the colors away to grey
And sips and swallows the light of day.
The ancient bones of ships and slaves,
Gleaming like iv'ry and rattling close,
Are sliding and nudging the floor of the sea.
Back to the deep,
Back to the deep,
Swept from our minds to scream and weep.
When the watery curls of bay and sand
Slip into pools and cover the land,
The mist strides out from the fading dark
and snatches the dawn and the moon in her hand.
Walks in the sand,
Walks in the sand
She squeezes the colors away to grey
And sips and swallows the light of day.
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