LIGHTHOUSES OF THE MIND
"Fiction is to the grown man what play is to the child."
R.L.S.
Come Louis and play
with my food
transforming my porridge
with a sprinkle of imagination
so that dusted with sugar
it becomes a land
buried under snow
and now with milk
a land invaded by
a white sea
the mind flooded
with thought
wave upon wave
of seeing
the food itself
taking second place
to whatever Thought
can get its teeth into
when seasoned with
such dreams.
And on nights in Nice
or in La Solitude in Hyères
writing in the dark
with your left hand
to spite the sciatica
fight the haemorrhaging
the partial blindness of
Egyptian ophthalmia.
"New Songs of Innocence" or
"Whistles for Small Whistlers*
finally becomes
"A Child's Garden of Verses."
Robert Louis Stevenson
creating in the night
lighthouses
of the mind.
Aug 29, 2019
Aug 29, 2019 at 11:27 AM UTC
LIGHTHOUSES OF THE MIND
"Fiction is to the grown man what play is to the child."
R.L.S.
Come Louis and play
with my food
transforming my porridge
with a sprinkle of imagination
so that dusted with sugar
it becomes a land
buried under snow
and now with milk
a land invaded by
a white sea
the mind flooded
with thought
wave upon wave
of seeing
the food itself
taking second place
to whatever Thought
can get its teeth into
when seasoned with
such dreams.
And on nights in Nice
or in La Solitude in Hyères
writing in the dark
with your left hand
to spite the sciatica
fight the haemorrhaging
the partial blindness of
Egyptian ophthalmia.
"New Songs of Innocence" or
"Whistles for Small Whistlers*
finally becomes
"A Child's Garden of Verses."
Robert Louis Stevenson
creating in the night
lighthouses
of the mind.
