sAyingsometHing

Art, poetry, digital art, photography, criticism and essays.

24 Dec 2011

During November 2011 (2. Our Mother Tongue)






Thought by thought

words are welded here

our mother tongue,

turn begin again





Rushing water chances its thumbs

petering gridlock

the motorway is still

folding onto running wind

a copse by chance

a glassy siren

pulsing yellow, brick red



notes

badgering arabesque trees

give way to painterly verde

a scrimmage of

prehensile brushes

make a prose of entwining sky,

an intelligent blur

for your photograph.



Women for moments elapsed

in cars chasing tails

as if

predicting the Cutty Sark,

walking through pitch green

passing food

through fingers by hand



Standing by the night of trees

porous nigh to the welt of sky

a young woman as amassed

as lean

in flickering light her body carved

her face

etched by anger

mute yet visceral.















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