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annh 10h
‘How quaint,’ remarked Mistress Hora as she turned the afternoon on its head, ‘that you would consider time to be a linear construct.’

‘Positively post-historic,’ agreed Master O’Clock, nodding his head in perfect synchrony with the orchestra that played inside his ear. Today was Waltzday (or so he had named it), an interminable reminder that atomic metronomes, particularly those of Viennese manufacture, were not to be trifled with.

‘Be assured, my dears, that this fancy is a passing one and exists only as a fleeting extemporaneous distraction,’ our Mistress continued. The first year students breathed a collective sigh of relief. ‘Now, I want no clumping, no running ahead, and NO helical improvisation. When yesterday’s fish and chips come wrapped in tomorrow’s newspaper it gives our school a most unfortunate reputation.’ The class chortled as one. ‘Most importantly, please remember to take your pocket guide.’

I reached for my bedraggled copy of The Theory of Chronometrical Fluidity: Compressed Edition and wrung the pages out. I had failed badly at applied clepsydrics and my cousin Widget wasn’t letting me forget it. From behind the glass, I spotted her playing a furtive game of Gregorian, and by the look on her face, February was winning. I blew her a lemniscate to grab her attention. She scowled, looked up from her losing streak, and giggled when she saw me spiralling in her direction. ‘Good luck,’ she spiralled back.

Miss Hora flexed her wrist and glanced at her temporal transponder. ‘You will be marked on cuneiformity, consistency, and rate of continuance. Now be off with you. Tempus fugit!’ With a flick of her bejangled fingers she opened the S.A.N.D. grates. I held my breath and jumped.
I couldn’t get hour glasses out of my head, and overnight my poem became a drabble. In my travels through Wiki-land I discovered that a clepsydra was a water clock, a device used by the ancients to measure time during night hours when sundials were reduced to decorative but functionless masonry. A lemniscate is the symbol for infinity, the horizontal figure-eight of algebraic theory.

‘Far out in the uncharted backwaters of the unfashionable end of the western spiral arm of the Galaxy lies a small unregarded yellow sun. Orbiting this at a distance of roughly ninety-two million miles is an utterly insignificant little blue-green planet whose ape-descended life forms are so amazingly primitive that they still think digital watches are a pretty neat idea.’
- Douglas Adams, The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy
2d · 53
Hour Glass
annh 2d
Time lapses, as quick sands sift from flask to flask,
Half empty - a flick of the wrist - half full;
Hours of glass, ground into powder, measuring my frailty.

'He dreamed of deserts and great empty cities and imagined he could feel the minutes and hours of his life running through him, as though he were nothing but an hourglass of flesh and bone.'
- Laini Taylor, Strange the Dreamer
2d · 132
Quadruple Bypass
annh 2d
Sometimes I'm an apathist,
Infrequently an anarchist,
Mostly an apologetic aesthete,
And almost never myself.

[email protected] it...sorry...hello.
'To be yourself in a world that is constantly trying to make you something else is the greatest accomplishment.'
- Ralph Waldo Emerson
2d · 202
Ohm’s Law
annh 2d
A twitch of the toes,
A pop of the lips,
A flick of an eyelid:
I watch as electricity sleeps.

‘Hey there, Mr Conductor. Y’know I can’t resist you.’

Sunday schmaltz - sorry.
Soap suds and rubber gloves have that effect. My right hand is wielding a *** scrubber but my brain thinks it’s holding a pen. Let’s call this dishwater doggerel and be done with it. :)
3d · 54
Solitary Pursuit
annh 3d
I write the night away in my quiet corner of the universe,
Hoping that my words will reach you;
That you may recognise yourself reflected in their distant glow,
Catch hold of one bright star in the twinkling density of the darkness,
And wish upon it.

‘Solitude gives birth to the original in us,
to beauty unfamiliar and perilous - to poetry.’
- Thomas Mann, Death in Venice and Other Tales
Nov 28 · 65
A Delicate Procedure
annh Nov 28
'Now, make sure you've sterilised those instruments well. I want no complications with this one,' I say to my rookie assistant.

I carefully lay out the gleaming stainless-steel blades and check that all is in order. We're waiting on a last minute ***** donation to complete the procedure and although the timing is unorthodox, I'm confident of success. The pleural resection should be reasonably straightforward. If anything, it's the closure that bothers me...and the possibility of problems further down the line.

From outside comes the sound of a vehicle screeching to a halt. Then the kitchen door bursts open. 'Mommy, Mommy, we got it! The last one.' My six-year old holds the bag of chicken giblets up triumphantly. I smile at my father as he appears with the rest of the Thanksgiving groceries and passes them to my son. 'Right, so who's going to help me stuff this bird?'

A flash fiction piece for all of you celebrating Thanksgiving today. :)

'Thanksgiving Day is a jewel, to set in the hearts of honest men; but be careful that you do not take the day, and leave out the gratitude.'
E.P. Powell

'The funny thing about Thanksgiving, or any big meal, is that you spend 12 hours shopping for it then go home and cook, chop, braise and blanch. Then it's gone in 20 minutes and everybody lies around sort of in a sugar coma and then it takes 4 hours to clean it up.'
- Ted Allen, The Food You Want to Eat: 100 Smart, Simple Recipes
Nov 25 · 88
From Dorset With Love
annh Nov 25
Susie Saviour is a Bond girl
From Weymouth-Turf-On-Sea
A swish, a sway; a fist, a fray
And home in time for tea.

She scuba dives for pleasure
Downdashious to her core,
But only when the flags are out
And never far from shore.

A beauty queen, a lisome lass,
A femme fatale, a flirt;
Serves martinis with a swizzle stick
This sweet assassin in a skirt.
Firstly, apologies to all Dorsetians; secondly, Weymouth-Turf-On-Sea is a figment of my poor imagination; thirdly, you will find 'downdashious' in the D section of the Wiki glossary of Dorset dialect words. It means audacious. And BTW 'dumbledore' means bumblebee. How about that?!

'To be a Bond girl you need courage, charm, determination and feistiness.'
Olga Kurylenko
Nov 16 · 161
Safe Word
annh Nov 16
Handcuffed politely to the bedpost of his inspiration,
he is optimistic that this time the limits
of self-imposed constraint will be breached, if not brutalised entirely.
~
‘Don Quixote’ - a whimper of metaphor;
‘DoN QuiXoTE’ - a rush of chiming vowels;
’DON QUIXOTE’ - a panic of ecstatic prosody.
~
Ignoring his aching wrists
and with imagination unfettered,
he reaches for paper and pen, and begins.

‘Somewhere in La Mancha, in a place whose name I do not care to remember, a gentleman lived not long ago, one of those who has a lance and ancient shield on a shelf and keeps a skinny nag and a greyhound for racing.’
- Miguel de Cervantes, Don Quixote
Nov 14 · 225
Eating Snow
annh Nov 14
White nights, grey days,
Phosphorus and gin;
Graffiti-laden pavements,
Diamond rain and paraffin.

Chalk dust reveries,
Aerosols and spit;
Zero-hour freeways,
Magnetic parapets.

City high, city low,
Monoliths in drag;
Silent spaces, dwelling places,
A hoody and a bag.

Freestyle evangelists,
Salvation strikes a pose;
Train tracks, kitchen hacks,
The rapture and the snow.

'I'm laying down, eating snow/My fur is hot, my tongue is cold/On a bed of spider web/I think of how to change myself.'
- Fever Ray, Keep the Streets Empty for Me
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=jWFb5z3kUSQ
Nov 9 · 109
First Impressions
annh Nov 9
Did you decide who I was before or after you spoke to me?

Did you decide to speak to me - or not - because of how I was dressed, what I looked like, my job, my education, my choice of beverage, my height, my accent, or my scintillating conversation with your plus one about the benefits of suburban parking spaces?

And who are you? Do you know? Are you sure? Did you dress yourself or did your date choose that sweater for you? Did you grow that ironic beard for her? Are you happy in your work, or just pretend to be to keep the peace? Did you miss taking up that scholarship because your family moved out of state?
Did someone ask you to hold their glass while they whipped to the loo? Do you slouch to compensate for those years of dance lessons which make you look too...straight? Are you trying to hide that southern twang? Do you talk ******* when conversing with strangers and tend to come across as a complete *****?

I thought so, go figure!

The more I think about it, it becomes clear to me - ironically enough - that who we are and how we communicate, interact, love and live is based on a pancake stack of impressions and fragmented contexts; a continuum of sliced-and-diced perspectives, learnt behaviours, and erroneous assumptions. Life is a veritable rabbit hole, thank goodness for poetry! :)

‘Your assumptions are your windows on the world. Scrub them off every once in a while, or the light won't come in.’
- Isaac Asimov
annh Nov 9
For each judges according to their truth;
And, accordingly, every truth affords a judgement.

The title attributed to Arthur Wellesley, 1st Duke of Wellington. A catchcry of freedom of speech advocates the world over.

‘My Lord Duke, in Harriette Wilson's Memoirs, which I am about to publish, are various anecdotes of Your Grace which it would be most desirable to withhold, at least such is my opinion. I have stopped the Press for the moment, but as the publication will take place next week, little delay can necessarily take place.’
- John Joseph Stockdale
Nov 8 · 621
Indigo
annh Nov 8
Starry, starry night;
An indigo beauty queen
In pearl drop earrings.
‘Maybe life is all about twirling under one of those midnight skies, cutting a swathe through the breeze and gently closing your eyes.’
- Sanober Khan
Nov 6 · 211
One Garden
annh Nov 6
My misgivings hide among the shadows,
In the tangle of long grass along the hedgerow
Between your wide open fields and my cultivated lawn.

Unspoken truths crowd out the spring bulbs,
Now snarled with weeds and thorned with blackberry,
The cobbled pathway which once linked my hope with your promise.

Will you meet me at the gate by the old sycamore tree?
If yes, then bring your dreams, untethered, and the dappled autumn sunshine,
I will bring my careful notions and the soft spring rain.

Prim roses and wild lilac; a velvet ash and sweet chestnuts,
Your gypsy summer, my redbud winter,
Our season, one garden.

‘Nothing is all bad. There are very beautiful flowers in the desert amidst the spikes and thorns. Just don't let them take over. In the garden of love there is little room for prickly things.'
- Kate McGahan

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=09qocOrQZNs
annh Nov 3
Have you seen my granny?
She shoots like Johnny Wayne,
Smokes cigarettes like Garbo,
Sings like Kelly in the rain.

She's doubtless at the movies
Watching Audrey zip 'round Rome,
And wishing she were young enough
To run away from home.

My nana laughs like Rita,
Plays chess like Steve McQueen,
She smoulders like her heroes do
Up on that silver screen.

Have you seen my granny?
She loves Bogart and Bacall,
And in her dreams forever
She is blonde and six-foot tall.
Third verse NOT a team player. Will revisit. Gotta go!

‘Movies, to him and the majority of the planet, are an enhancement to a life. The way a glass of wine complements a dinner. I’m the other way around. I’m the kind of person who eats a few bites of food so that my stomach can handle the full bottle of wine I’m about to drink.’
- Patton Oswalt, Silver Screen Fiend: Learning About Life from an Addiction to Film
Nov 1 · 158
Retrowave
annh Nov 1
The world on call-wait,
Taps its toes and sings along,
‘How deep is your love?’
‘Not every musician should be obligated to reassure us that we are not zombies.’
- Joseph Lanza, Elevator Music: A Surreal History of Muzak, Easy-Listening, and Other Moodsong; Revised and Expanded Edition
Nov 1 · 391
Asphalt Dining
annh Nov 1
Grease
Wagon
Paper cups,
Hot chips and sauce;
Sticky fingers dip in for just one more...

...bite!

I’m thinking ‘grease wagon’ may need some explanation. Not sure whether it’s Ocker, Kiwi, Mainland, or scarfie (i.e. student) lingo but it’s what we’ve always called mobile tuck shops that sell...well, ‘greasies’.

‘I despise formal restaurants. I would much rather eat potato chips on the sidewalk.’
- Werner Herzog
Oct 28 · 127
HP: Disambiguation
annh Oct 28
Hire purchase, Hewlett-Packard, hand phones and - just maybe - Harry Potter have got nothing on Hello Poetry. A house party of honey pies, head pixies, and horizontal plotters hot piping their harmonic power from Hyde Park to Hunter’s Point, the High Plains to Himachel Pradesh. Household profilers, home porters, health practitioners and - it may be said - the odd human particulate here to engage in high-priority human performance.

P.S. Heart points and historic preservation aside, what the hoi polloi is up with those hit-by-pitch holding patterns, Eliot?

On Friday afternoon I had a conversation:
‘Got much planned for the long weekend?’ asked the checkout operator clicking the tips of her dark lacquered nails together while we waited for the till supervisor.
‘Catching up on some well overdue reading...HP...y’know?’
‘Do I ever! Mind you take a squiz at the small print. Those repayment schedules can be a real killer.’
Needless to say, by Saturday evening I was snorkelling for acronyms.

‘The machinations of ambiguity are among the very roots of poetry.’
- William Empson
Oct 25 · 171
Sliding Doors
annh Oct 25
Papa always said, ‘Parallel lives meet when love travels sideways.’
‘She didn't look at me and I didn't look at her. Some questions are so direct the only way to ask them is sideways.’
- Deanna Raybourn, A Spear of Summer Grass
Oct 21 · 261
A Boy Named Shy
annh Oct 21
He is a child who covers his eyes with peep-hole hands and thinks himself unseen; he talks softly when the multitude shouts out loud, and hums sweet tunes to
block the trembling arpeggios and clashing riffs of humanity in discord.
He is overwhelmed by the silence of life's unspoken words.
He is a listener who also has something to say.
He sees into the hearts of men.
Will you let him
speak?

Speak
if you will, Shy,
of what lies within the hearts
of men - unspoken thoughts and peep-hole
tremblings - the whole of life’s silent and unseen somethings.
Softly now; block out the discordant shouts of the clashing multitude.
Close your sweet eyes and listen to those tuneful arpeggios and undercover
riffs. Talk to me. Can you hear the sweet sound of humanity humming out loud?

‘My feelings are too loud for words and too shy for the world.
- Dejan Stojanovic
Oct 12 · 405
Tittle-Tattle
annh Oct 12
Robert told Olive
And Olive told Dee
That Emma likes Peter
But Peter likes me.

And Stephen saw Jamie
Tell Anna and George
That Vicky kissed Edward
And Clarence kissed Maude.

But Peter told Edward
And Edward told me
That Vicky saw Stephen
Tell Clarence and Dee

That Robert kissed Emma
So Anna told George
That Olive likes Jamie
But Jamie likes Maude
‘I never gossip. I observe. And then relay my observations to practically everyone.’
- Gail Carriger, Timeless
Oct 9 · 419
Verbosity Atrocity
annh Oct 9
Why,
You ask,
Use ten words
When two will do?

‘Cos a pair is always eight words too few.
‘"The efficiency of the cleaning solution in liquefying wizards suggested the operation of an antithetical principal, which--"
"Did you have to get him started?" Cimorene asked reproachfully.’
- Patricia C. Wrede, Calling On Dragons
Oct 6 · 226
Fallen Angel
annh Oct 6
I
tilted
my halo
at life, for kicks;
and life kicked back.
A failed tetractys: 1-2-3-4-10. And a variation on 'Temptation'.

‘The angel came, the angel saw, the angel fell.’
- Alexandra Adornetto, Halo
Oct 3 · 392
Temptation
annh Oct 3
You tilted your halo at me,
While I was polishing my horns,
A twinkle in your eye,
A prayer on your lips;
I can resist anything except temptation.
Can you?

‘There is a charm about the forbidden that makes it unspeakably desirable.’
- Mark Twain

The penultimate line is borrowed from the playful and flirtatious character of Lord Darlington in Oscar Wilde’s comedy of manners, ‘Lady Windermere’s Fan’.
Sep 28 · 503
Written
annh Sep 28
The writer is unwritten until he writes;
But ne’er of the unwritten does the written writer write.

‘There is nothing new except what has been forgotten.’
- Marie Antoinette
Sep 28 · 70
All Is True
annh Sep 28
“If you want to be a writer, then speak to others and for others, but speak first for yourself. Search within, consider the contents of your own soul, your humanity; and if you’re honest with yourself then whatever you write...all is true. Now, if you can’t save my hollyhocks please leave me to mourn the dead.”
It’s one of those crazy spring mornings when the skies are undecided about what to wear for the day - blue linen, white chiffon, or stormy denim. Rather than venture outside and provoke a fashion disaster, I’ve spent my Saturday morning watching ‘All Is True’. Thought you might enjoy this line from Ben Elton’s fab screenplay.

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=vt4K5-5_N1s
Sep 26 · 540
Of Banks and Gold Miners
annh Sep 26
“The conflict at the moment,
Is you're literally,
One tweet away,
From the market being down,
5 per cent.”
My day routinely starts with a quick whip through the AFR, and this line caught my eye. Not my usual kinda post and by no means poetic, but there you go.

'As the impeachment movement picks up, Trump will counterpunch. He's shaping up as a master politician and markets don't like that.'
- Greg Bundy, FAM Chairman
Sep 24 · 270
Outta Whack
annh Sep 24
Outta whack,
Outta sync,
Wanna write,
Can't think.

Words dance,
Outta time,
Mismatched,
Bad rhyme.

Lines smash,
Commas fight,
Vowels heave,
Rhythm's *****.

Verses clatter,
Phrases crunch,
****** muse's
Gonta lunch.

Gotta write,
Gotta pen,
Words'll come,
Dunno when.

Day's boshed,
Outta sight,
Gonna bed,
Good night!
‘Nonsense wakes up the brain cells. ...If you can see things out of whack, then you can see how things can be in whack.’
- Dr Suess
Sep 22 · 268
Beachcomber
annh Sep 22
Each day is broken
At the zero hour,
Splintering like a derelict,
On the craggy shoreline of the morn;

Flotsam abandoned,
To the oceans of yesterday,
The beach combed for treasure,
To keep for tomorrow.

When you find yourself googling ‘marine+law+salvage’ it’s time to stop poeming for the day. Have obviously been watching too much Poldark!

‘Every day we reconstruct our lives out of the salvage of our yesterdays.’
- James Sallis, Death Will Have Your Eyes
Sep 20 · 461
Empatico
annh Sep 20
Lend me your biography; your innermost-ness,
Your secret shame; your hidden struggles,
And I shall gift you words.

A language woven with silk,
Borrowed from my own unravellings,
Frayed edges, now mended.

Let me help you thread the needle,
So that you may quilt your scattered pieces together,
And, in time, find yourself whole again.

‘Words are singularly the most powerful force available to humanity. We can choose to use this force constructively with words of encouragement, or destructively using words of despair. Words have energy and power with the ability to help, to heal, to hinder, to hurt, to harm, to humiliate and to humble.’
- Yehuda Berg
Sep 17 · 485
Elemental
annh Sep 17
They spoke to me of evenfall and dayspring, the solstice and the equinox. They sang of eras, epochs, and eons. On indigo nights, they whispered in the owl light of alchemy and enchantment, wreathing my cot with an iridescence which illuminated my dreams and begentled my slumber.

At Hallowtide, they scribed lyrical pathways in the air and sculpted rainbow arcs. They celebrated the vernal majesty of April and October's autumnal reprise with moonglade pageantry and sunset flourishes. They conjured blackberry winters and gypsy summers, and laughed at my amazement, as if to say: ‘Told you so!’

As the years departed my second decade and encroached alarmingly upon my third, I began to question why they had chosen me; why we walked together apart and apart together. I wondered where the magic ended and I began, and I realised with the bone-breaking chill of the unwelcome inevitable, just how lost I would be without it.

‘Magic exists. Who can doubt it, when there are rainbows and wildflowers, the music of the wind and the silence of the stars?’
- Nora Roberts
Sep 16 · 540
Morning Rush Hour
annh Sep 16
Up
At five,
Rummaging
For matching socks;
I meet my train, asymmetrically dressed.

‘Improbable as it may be, the day still has a few indignities left.’
- Colson Whitehead, The Colossus of New York
annh Sep 15
As the twilight contracts
And outstretching sleep escapes me,
The darkness offers me its small hand to hold,
Sighing gratefully for the flame I place in the window
To pass the night through.

Sep 14 · 141
Coddiwomple (v.):
annh Sep 14
To travel in a purposeful manner towards a vague destination.
'I am a serial coddiwompler and will often take off over a stretch of open ground or climb a hill "to see what is there".'
- Tony Bailie

My favourite new word. Thought I'd share it with you, it being a Saturday afternoon and perfect weather for coddiwompling.
And Poohsticks.
Sep 12 · 821
Gallery
annh Sep 12
Dream your life in watercolours,
Live your life in oils,
Frame your canvases with time and distance;

Hang each by a silver thread,
In a windowed gallery of memories,
Exhibit often and without discrimination;

Celebrate the beauty in your clumsiest brushwork,
Accept the imperfections in your mastery,
Reshape your truths, as light plays and colour transforms.

‘If you ask me what I came to do in this world, I, an artist, will answer you: I am here to live out loud.‘
- Émile Zola
Sep 8 · 704
Eclipse
annh Sep 8
Neither to imagine inarticulately the moon,
Nor to articulate unimaginatively the sun,
But to scan the celestial sphere for sublime inspiration: the poet.

‘I think our lives are surely but the dreams
Of spirits, dwelling in the distant spheres,
Who as we die, do one by one awake.’
- Edgar Saltus, Poppies and Mandragora
Sep 8 · 437
Lost For Words
annh Sep 8
This morning I awoke with a cluster of words resting in the palm of my hand, my fingers tracing their gentle form like the decades of a rosary. On the tip of my tongue a song, a story, a fable of experience, existence, and eternity lay dozing.

There I floated between my inner and outer worlds, an exquisite confluence of wakeful consciousness and drowsy carelessness, until daybreak shook the last of sleep from my tousled dreams and my verses disintegrated like dust into the ether. It was at that moment, when the cool breeze through the open window intervened and the thrum of traffic in the distance drew me out from beyond the covers, that I lost my poem.

I know it will return: as droplets of rain on window glass, or as threads of loose cotton on a frayed cushion cover, in the rhythm of a lazy Sunday afternoon, or in the sigh of the ocean’s flow. All of these are mesmerising in their effect, some intangibly soulful, others enticingly tactile. All are enough to quiet the chatter of the quotidian mind and allow the delicate operations of the creative imagination to reign.

Only then, will I attempt to commit my words to paper...and you shall read them here.

Where do all the lost words go? Do they know their way home? Do they come with contact details attached? If not, does that mean they get confused and end up inside someone else’s head? Did I post your poem my mistake? Did you post mine?
Sep 6 · 385
Catnap
annh Sep 6
Bright anime eyes,
Cat-astrophically bewitching;
Forty winks required.

‘In ancient times cats were worshipped as gods; they have not forgotten this.’
- Terry Pratchett
annh Sep 5
As his feet moved even faster, and he twirled and whirled and cantered across the stage, it was as if he existed in an indeterminate space - blinded by the footlights, deafened by the orchestra, absorbed in his own rumbustious choreography. Beyond the pit, in the anonymous darkness, the audience rippled and flared appreciatively in response. So he danced on until, with a final rapturous gesture of his outstretched arms, he plunged to earth as dizzy as a snowflake. And waited.

The silence shifted. The soft rumble of engine noise played softly in the background, while the chain-link fence rattled in the squall which blew fresh off the harbour. He opened his eyes and watched the cars crawling across the overbridge above him; the empty basketball court, littered with yesterday’s snack papers, lay in shadow. In the middle distance, a familiar figure walked briskly towards him.

‘Matthew! Matthew! You come here this secon’ or I’ll whip your **** right off, already.’
‘Yes, Auntie.’
‘What you doin’ tryna waste good time?’
‘Nothin’, Auntie.’
‘Ain’t that the truth, boy.’

As he stooped to gather up his satchel, Matthew saw out of the corner of his eye the concertmaster lower his instrument, incline his head, and begin to tap his music stand with his bow. From the balconies the first of a thousand rose petals began to fall with the evening rain, the applause thundered while the lightning clapped, and there in the gods stood his mother waving and blowing kisses at him, as he followed his aunt down East Street towards home.

‘And those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music.’
- Friedrich Nietzsche
Sep 1 · 497
Subway Skip Jive
annh Sep 1
Subway skip jive,
Off and on,
Up and over,
Been and gone.

Mind your wallet,
Watch your step,
Take your seat,
Turn right, lean left.

Token trav’lers,
Quick, quick, slow,
We’re underground,
And on the go.

‘I loved the abandoned subway stations, rushing past the darkened platforms, the sprawl of graffiti like old letters. Letters left by ghosts.’
- Hannah Lillith Assadi, Sonora
Aug 30 · 211
Mea Culpa
annh Aug 30
Confessor, I am reborn,
Vain with ash and frankincense;
Absolved of my inverted pleasures,
Reconciled to the morality of suffering.

Confessor, I am returned,
Predestined to gravely offend;
Nimbly contrite in my genuflection,
Gracefully weak-kneed in my resolve.

Confessor, I am reborn,
Although aged by my discretion;
Examined satisfactorily by my conscience,
Blessedly relieved through your encouragement.

Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa.
‘A true confession: I believe in a soluble fish.’
- Charles Simic, The Unemployed Fortune-Teller: Essays and Memoirs

Written - somewhat cynically - in response to a situation with an immediate family member, who is seemingly unable to break out of a continual cycle of apology and recidivism. There is no doubt that her ‘sorries’ are meant at the time but within weeks, days, sometimes even hours, she’s at it again.
Aug 23 · 1.1k
Rhapsody In Blue
annh Aug 23
Tendrils of drowsy pleasure entice and hypnotise,
As daybreak storms; a rapturous collision,
Of distorted cadences and scintillating harmonies,
Between discarded blue-sky sheets.

‘I love to feel the temperature drop and the wind increase just before a thunderstorm. Then I climb in bed with the thunder.’
- Amanda Mosher, Better To Be Able To Love Than To Be Loveable
Aug 22 · 82
Vigil
annh Aug 22
Clothed, I, in robes,
Sanctified by charcoal deities;
Widowed of this world,
And as yet unborn;
Mourn the galloping pulse,
Of the passing night divine.
‘Learning to weep, learning to keep vigil, learning to wait for the dawn. Perhaps this is what it means to be human.‘
- Henri Nouwen

‘The robe of flesh wears thin.’
- John Buchan
Aug 20 · 327
Due Consideration
annh Aug 20
She felt that to sip from the chalice of due consideration, would not only delay the inevitable to such an extent as to nullify the experience altogether, but leave her so drunk with anticipation that she would render herself unconscious before noon.
‘Too much thinking leads to paralysis by analysis.’
- Robert Herjavec

Sometimes, I like to walk into the middle of a narrative. To close my eyes and randomly lay my finger on the page of my imagination. What words lie beneath?
Aug 17 · 2.0k
Neon Rain
annh Aug 17
red
neon
rain spattered
pavements teeming;
one thousand prismatic shades of meaning

graffiti-laden puddles splish, splosh, splash;
as midnight turns
to blue, and
dawn to
ash

‘I walked up, and I walked down, and I walked straight into a delicately dying sky, and finally the sequence of observed and observant things brought me, at my usual eating time, to a street so distant from my usual eating place that I decided to try a restaurant which stood on the fringe of the town. Night had fallen without sound or ceremony when I came out again.’
- Vladimir Nabokov, The Vane Sisters
Aug 15 · 219
I Am Nature
annh Aug 15
Her dreams to cherish,
Her disappointments to tell;
If Nature had words.
5-7-5
‘The Earth has its music for those who will listen.’
- George Santayana
annh Aug 3
my parentheses:
in need of a Venice Beach
semi-colonic
;)

5-7-5
‘Soon I was incorporating :( and ;) and ;( too and after that the live emoticons, and now, without any intention of ever reducing the enormity of my human emotions to these shallow shortcuts, to this typographical juvenilia, I went around all day reducing them and reducing them, endowing emotions with, and requiring them to carry the subtle quivering burdens of my inner life.’
- Joshua Ferris, To Rise Again at a Decent Hour
Aug 2 · 61
The Smiling Assassin
annh Aug 2
Miss Dolly Dumpkiss
writes critiques backhandedly
while wearing nowt
more than her favourite French
perfume - L'Assassin
and a disingenuous
half smile. D'accord?

5-7-5-7-5-7-5
'Maybe the whole Internet will simply become like Facebook: falsely jolly, fake-friendly, self-promoting, slickly disingenuous.'
- Zadie Smith
Jul 31 · 70
ITSONLYWORDS
annh Jul 31
Toilworn.
No words. No sword.
I drown, drowsily, in snow;
Soon lost to lornly’s downy sorrow.
Now low. Low-lit, I stonily sit.
So it is, I worldly rid.

‘Father liked word games. he was fourteen times World Scrabble Champion. When he died, we buried him at Queenzieburn to make use of the triple word score.’
Jasper Fforde, The Big Over Easy

Written using only the ten letters from the title:
D, I, L, N, O, R, S, T, W, Y.
Jul 11 · 78
On Moorhouse
annh Jul 11
He
recites
poetry
before sunrise.
Belts out Broadway ballads as the dawn glows.
'If a street performer makes you stop walking, you owe him a buck.'
- Anon
Jul 10 · 342
A Fool’s Errand
annh Jul 10
Wit when overreached
Is neither as endearing nor amusing
As the antics of a court jester;
But it is infinitely more foolish.

‘The greatest fools are ofttimes more clever than the men who laugh at them.’
- George R.R. Martin, A Storm of Swords
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