Three plus one: four poems for a birthday

TORCH
I was born the day my mother stopped being pregnant
a full-baked warm wetness taking its first breath
flame flickering, a miniature torch; a moth fluttering
against the pane, the porch. She held: a curved moon-nail,
thistle-like lock, darkened milk; and the clarinetist curled
slow circles around the moon


WISH
the crack of eggs, the weight of flour, chocolate powder

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Military Hospital Rawalpindi

The Military Hospital Rawalpindi is the biggest clinic of the Pakistan Armed Forces, being one of the medical clinics in the Pakistan Army with an ISO accreditation, situated in the city of Rawalpindi. Before freedom in 1947 it was known as the British Indian Military Hospital Rawalpindi. Its commandant/CEO is a serving Major General of Army Medical Corps. It has one agent commandant with the position of brigadier and two partner commandants (executives) with the position of Colonel. Its family wing is taken care of by a Lady Medical Officer with the position of brigadier. It is a partnered emergency clinic of the Army Medical College and Armed Forces Post Graduate Medical Institute, Rawalpindi. It is likewise a showing foundation for medical attendants and paramedics.  https://youtu.be/OXTdENF9tDU https://vimeo.com/496410200 https://www.veoh.com/users/guitalreviews https://josecohen181.wistia.com/medias/ldn3pkd0xd https://www.flickr.com/people/guitalreviewscom/ https://www.tumblr.com/
Read more

The acacia trees, a poem by Derek Walcott

Image
I You used to be able to drive (though I don't) across the wide, pool-sheeted pasture below the house to the hot, empty beach and park in the starved shade of the acacias that print those tiny yellow flowers (blank, printless beaches are part of my trade); then there were men with tapes and theodolites who measured the wild, uneven ground. I watched the doomed acres where yet another luxury hotel will be built with ordinary people fenced out. The new makers of our history profit without guilt and are, in fact, prophets of a policy that will make the island a mall, and the breakers grin like waiters, like taxi drivers, these new plantations by the sea; a slavery without chains, with no blood spilt� just chain-link fences and signs, the new degradations. I felt such freedom writing under the acacias. II Bossman, if you look in those bush there, you'll find a whole set of passport, wallet, I.D., credit card, that is no use to them, is money on their mind and is not every time you&
Read more

Happy birthday, Dennis! - earn

Image
Dennis Vincent Brutus (born November 28, 1924, Salisbury, Rhodesia) is a South African poet. A graduate of the University of Fort Hare and the University of the Witwatersrand, Brutus was formerly on the faculty of the University of Denver and Northwestern University. Dennis Brutus was an activist against the apartheid government of South Africa in the 1960s. He worked to get South Africa suspended from the Olympics; this eventually lead to the country's expulsion from the games in 1970. He joined the Anti-Coloured Affairs Department organisation (Anti-CAD), a group that organised against the Coloured Affairs Department which was an attempt by the government to institutionalise divisions between blacks and coloureds. The Anti-CAD was affiliated to the Trotskyist Fourth International in South Africa. He was arrested in 1963 and jailed for 18 months on Robben Island. https://ello.co/faqk24   https://torgi.gov.ru/forum/user/profile/1085532.page   https://www.behance.net/gsgsga
Read more