Friday, January 30, 2009
Thursday, January 29, 2009
|Fingal O'Flahertie Wills|
16 October 1854
30 November 1900
I know that when plays last too long, spectators tire. My tragedy has lasted far too long; its climax is over; its end is mean; and I am quite conscious of the fact that when the end does come I shall return as an unwelcome visitant to a world that does not want me.
De Profundis and Essays
(Letters From Reading Gaol)
3. Tag 7 random people at the end of your post & include links to their blogs.
4. Leave a comment on the blogs of those you tag letting them know.
My Thursday is muddled between my Thinks and my Thankfulness, so I will meld them together today.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Is there no way out of the mind. ~ Sylvia Plath
The Bee Keepers Daughter
A garden of mouthings. Purple, scarlet-speckled, black
The great corollas dilate, peeling back their silks.
Their musk encroaches, circle after circle,
A well of scents almost too dense to breathe in.
Hieratical in your frock coat, maestro of the bees,
You move among the many-breasted hives,
My heart under your foot, sister of a stone.
Trumpet-throats open to the beaks of birds.
The Golden Rain Tree drips its powders down.
In these little boudoirs streaked with orange and red
The anthers nod their heads, potent as kings
To father dynasties. The air is rich.
Here is a queenship no mother can contest ---
A fruit that's death to taste: dark flesh, dark parings.
In burrows narrow as a finger, solitary bees
Keep house among the grasses. Kneeling down
I set my eyes to a hole-mouth and meet an eye
Round, green, disconsolate as a tear.
Father, bridegroom, in this Easter egg
Under the coronal of sugar roses
The queen bee marries the winter of your year.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Sunday, January 25, 2009
It bothered me though and I think I knew why, even as I used it. I remembered this image, but it sat at the back of my mind and tweaked it until I looked for it.
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Friday, January 23, 2009
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
A person who publishes a book willfully appears before the populace with his pants down. If it is a good book nothing can hurt him. If it is a bad book nothing can help him. Edna St. Vincent Millay
Afternoon on a Hill
|I will be the gladdest thing |
Under the sun!
I will touch a hundred flowers
And not pick one.
I will look at cliffs and clouds
With quiet eyes,
Watch the wind bow down the grass,
And the grass rise.
And when lights begin to show
Up from the town,
I will mark which must be mine,
And then start down!
Edna St. Vincent Millay
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Monday, January 19, 2009
Sunday, January 18, 2009
The ordinary arts we practice every day at home are of more importance to the soul than their simplicity might suggest
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Friday, January 16, 2009
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
When you die, the circle remains.