reaching for the sky the Shard of Glass mast on a proud city
Pink-footed geese circling the fields, dot the golden sky fill the air with their harsh calls for home.
Sometimes, like today, with a chilly wind spraying drizzle over grey London, I feel that this city needs the Aegean to be closer.
Silence has lost its shape today. A single carnation bursts into song.
poem— the old soup bowl filled with cream
The moon is kind tonight, bathing the room in milk. A breeze rustles the Eucalyptus and I realize I daydream.
Picking fishnet tights, a shoe, and a pair of torn jeans, the wordsmith assembles her poem; plenty of time in her workshop.
London: creeping fog on the Thames reaches for my hair See also here
In sun-bleached deserts, in mountain caves, on sea-sculpted rocks the hermit slept, forgetting that the essence of being can be found in a single drop of rain.
Crochet and Knitting Meditation
When I started learning to crochet, I thought of it as a relaxing, stress-reducing act, like counting the amber beads of a komboloi. Now, looking at my hand holding the crochet hook, the wool, at the next stitch to pick up, the stitches I travelled and the one I have to travel to next, I think it is more than that. It is a process like meditation, without however the religious connotations and...
blackbirds pecking red rowan berries sing to themselves Read about the Rowans here. In the Mythology and Folklore section: “It was said in England that this was the tree on which the Devil hanged his mother.”
As darkness falls over London, the thick, grey curtain of rain that drowned the city relents, leaving behind shimmering haloes of street lights — the night’s rainbow.
waking up: waves of traffic roll into daylight
cold wind sweeps the street, deposits leaves, sweet wrappers, a juice carton, and a chocolate box on my doorstep.
dark morning — Vivaldi pours into waves of sleep This post can also be found here
the eucalyptus swishes and sways singing in tune with the wind
Happy New Year’s Day! Remember though … . a river flows into a new year every day . In a sense this micropoem plays on the theme of Heraclitus‘ Fragment 41: ”You cannot step twice into the same river” Δεν γίνεται να μπει κανείς στο ίδιο νερό του ποταμού που κυλάει δύο φορές. From today on, though, I, along with others, will be entering the river of stones every single day for a month. ...