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stanley-wilkin
greenwich I am an academic living now in Torres Vegras, Portugal. I have published numerous academic papers on philpapers, academia.edu, JURN and other sites.
Silently, shadowed by night, Its eyes shining like tears, It pads through the desolated undergrowth Listening for sounds in the grass The tripping of feet, the scampering Crunch of paws. Lithely stepping Through the trees, a mile further on The fox sniffs the air. The stubbled moon Flings down its steel-like shafts Of thin even light, stabbing through The gloom. The stream flows around the dying plants Breaking the bank. The River Vole slides down Into the labouring water, older than the Landscape it bites through, and it pounces Grabbing the voles neck in its maw, Ripping the flesh apart. The cat throws It into the air, catching it again, Its teeth rending off flesh. It pads back into the dark. Nose delving into the air , the fox sniffs blood. It turns towards the water Breaking the bank, turns towards Its slow sibilant sound, muzzle aloft As if drawn upward by slithers of string, The playful moon moving smoothly with the clouds. The cat is shaken by its presence. The grouse gabble in their fear. The fox pounces, caught in the air Floating as if in a snapshot Held there by silvery light, It lands with untroubled finesse As the cat screams. The stream blanches, the moon seems smug, The night closes as the fox eats.
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Dec 29, 2018
Dec 29, 2018 at 5:30 PM UTC
SILENTLY
Dive bombers, black wings spread, satanic angels: Two crows attacked another broken on the long grass, consumed by grappling weeds, unable to fly and imprisoned within the soft melding soil as if caught nesting; I watched from afar; a spectator at an accident unwilling to intervene. Darting beak, defending itself with desperate protests: they swooped again and again- stukas in the old war, squarking demonically wings flapping like black pistons geared up for death- again and again they drilled into the world of men boring down until in the fading light, head bowed, the damaged crow surrendered and vomitted out its last stored-up breath, shining ebony slashed, in a flurry of dangling flesh, its life hacked away-blood dripping from its bill- hacked away in the cold air, its brothers, like brothers everywhere, gorging on its flesh. By then, I had had enough, I refused to watch anymore. The bird a meal for its own kind, soon just scattered feathers repositioning the light. Its darkness, once a threat, with its suggestion of forboding now merely signalling innocence, the victim of misrepresentation. I left a scene that did not truly embrace reflection, an unusual carnival of life and death in a city that rejected both.
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Oct 16, 2018
Oct 16, 2018 at 11:54 AM UTC
CROWS
Her beauty rests on her Like lavender in the hand Like smiles from a baby Like heat from the sun: It meets her smile with a kiss And drops glistening light in her eyes: Her beauty greets admiration with a glance And settles gently like clear water, In a rippling pool edged with drifting beams, Her black hair burnished with fire. Her beauty surrendering to the shackled Gaze of my surrendered sight.
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Sep 8, 2018
Sep 8, 2018 at 8:52 PM UTC
NAS
Cool, calm and comforting arising darkly from the hill cool, calm, comforting it flows there still. By the aspen by the shrunken sedge by the aspen by the bracken on the window ledge, Bird and scurrilous badger over muddy field bird and badger where foxgloves yield scents like rashes into the sun filled air scents like rashes where the twitchy rabbits stare the sky yawns towards sunset the lounging clouds fill the sky yawns towards sunset where the arched light will- chaffinch peeks above elm branch and bough chaffinch peeks above in solitude now.
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Aug 28, 2018
Aug 28, 2018 at 7:02 PM UTC
Solitude Now
Although I strut like a bright plumed bird I do not choose- As a man, I am chosen. I noted your face first I thought but it was you who selected mine. You who arranged our first well-considered copulation, who washed and aired the sheets two days before- You who arranged the hour. I who complied.
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Aug 26, 2018
Aug 26, 2018 at 4:14 PM UTC
NOT CHOOSING; CHOSEN.
In troubled light the old man sat turning the pages of a darkened book while on the grass lay his Summer hat occasionally splashed by a strumming brook; her lovely face was drawn there in smooth, fluid lines echoing her dark gleaming hair the coal black hue of coal black mines; his sighs were those of empty years his sadness that of endless regret, his wrinkled eyes were calloused tears where death had already set. The portrait complete he began another of a memory, a distant love, an enduring wish, a long departed lover packed away with his clouded brain's crippled stuff.
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Aug 18, 2018
Aug 18, 2018 at 9:21 PM UTC
GONE2
I loved you for a moment, then that moment was gone- where once was life again, now there is none. I should have held on to the flicker of light that briefly flared like winter sun passionate and bright. I should have held onto your hand in case I strayed but I couldn't then understand the price to be paid. I couldn't understand that love is not necessarily scheduled to arrive, not stapled to a plan, that kind of stuff, not an adjunct to being alive. I knew only not to renew, something I casually dispensed with; I know when something is through, when remembered with grief- I said goodbye to what might have been to quiet walks, caresses and days in bed, I said goodbye to a beautiful thing half remembered, once alive, full of wonder, now dead.
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Aug 18, 2018
Aug 18, 2018 at 7:54 PM UTC
GONE
When the rose’s bloom darkens When the mountains sink, When the desert overcomes starkness And life comes to a brink, When shade is clarified by light And rain returns to cloud, When day exonerates the night And silence is too loud And voices become deaf; Then that’s when thankfully Life replaces death And what is, is no longer what is to be And tears grow kinder The air flows more gently And gods grow ever blinder And land returns to sea.
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Aug 9, 2018
Aug 9, 2018 at 12:32 PM UTC
When the Rose's bloom darkens
Each hill climbed means an obstacle overcome, behind each hill is another, behind the next is a mountain of ravines and crags, covered with fine snow; when overcome, the peak transcended, life becomes just a pleasant downward snowboard into the sun.
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May 20, 2018
May 20, 2018 at 5:42 AM UTC
Life is a snowboard!
When someone dies their thoughts Die with them, Their bones absorb their words- After a summer others cease to remember, We fade and then are gone. Each person is replaced: Vast cities shrink becoming grass-beaten mounds, Shining cultures wither, Their intricate palaces shatter, Temples decay under interminable suns, Religions flounder, sacrificed to time. Philosophies expire like sunlight When night falls, wise words unravel, Tortured by inconsequence, Decay dripping from each syllable Like uncollected wind-driven ******* Running down a lonely street. In the alley the dog howls, Amongst the discarded boxes the Raven sings.
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May 18, 2018
May 18, 2018 at 5:58 AM UTC
When someone dies their thoughts die with them.