"drily" poems
The half-stripped trees
struck by a wind together,
bending all,
the leaves flutter drily
and refuse to let go
or driven like hail
stream bitterly out to one side
and fall
where the salvias, hard carmine—
like no leaf that ever was—
edge the bare garden.
5.3k
Only the thorns kept
with petals drily withered
a scarlet white rose
counting the beads of Mary
one day or so long ago.
Jul 17, 2022
Jul 17, 2022 at 3:41 PM UTC
What can I show you in this town..
The drear of horizons blocked,
tired light slumping over callous concrete cubes.
The background smell of estuary mud,
God forbid we scratch the surface, let the stench out.
Broken men in stained trousers walk their dogs
House, shop, cigarettes, cider.
Wind , trying to carry the scent of green, merely stirs the dead hopes that writhe drily in the gutter, earthworms caught in the sun .
Women sit, brightness long faded, waiting for daylight to cough its way through misery stained-glass.
Cathedrals of emptiness echo hollow, as the wait for nothing to happen drags by.
Feb 12, 2014
Feb 12, 2014 at 10:31 AM UTC
Slow-motion was developed over a thirty year period and involved gently and gradually tensing and relaxing various muscle groups. The stretches were not demanding and it did not leave a pain in her muscles for days after like exercise had in her youth. It left instead a warm glow.
The standing exercises were mostly on two feet but some involved standing on one foot. The imagination is incorporated and the astounding discovery that kept Daphne coming back was that if she imagined herself leaning on a table, she did not fall. It was difficult to maintain that imagining, and therein lay the exercise; mind, body and soul.
There were women and men in the class and they would chat afterwards but never during. Relaxing music (noises really) were played during the class and the level of concentration required made conversation nearly impossible. To converse would be to blow on a tower of cards. The longer the silence the taller the tower was built, but of course everyone breathes and everyone chatters nervously and so some sessions were indeed filled with whispered chats, sometimes while trying to touch one’s toes.
‘How are you today, Lisa’, whispered Daphne at such a time, ‘Very well thank you, I can’t actually reach my toes though, should I tell her?’ said Lisa, ‘Oh I don’t think so I’m sure she’s watching over all of us, though I can’t see her, my knees are blocking my line of sight’, Daphne replied, ‘Show off’ and Lisalaughed drily.
The music came in various themes: seaside, piano hall and forest. The forest were her favourite and comprised of bird song and rustling leaves. The piano was very generic and was too similar to the open door noise of her microwave to be particularly appealing.
The seaside songs featured the raucous sound of gulls which Daphne did not enjoy as she thought them to be a selfish bird. It seemed when she visited the sea that the gulls were always flying to whatever section of strand they fancied and cleaning the place out of small ***** and seaweed.
Sep 23, 2014
Sep 23, 2014 at 10:45 AM UTC