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Tuesday, 23 September 2014. FLEUR ADCOCK'S POEM 'INCIDENT'. When you were lying on the white sand,. A rock under your head, and smiling,. Circled by dead shells), I came to you. And you said, reaching to take my hand,. 8216;Lie down.’ So for a time we lay. Warm on the sand, talking and smoking,. Easy; while the grovelling sea behind. Sucked at the rocks and measured the day. Lightly I fell asleep then, and fell. Into a cavernous dream of falling. It was all the cave-myths, it was all. Empty, I am soulless.

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Tuesday, 23 September 2014. FLEUR ADCOCK'S POEM 'INCIDENT'. When you were lying on the white sand,. A rock under your head, and smiling,. Circled by dead shells), I came to you. And you said, reaching to take my hand,. 8216;Lie down.’ So for a time we lay. Warm on the sand, talking and smoking,. Easy; while the grovelling sea behind. Sucked at the rocks and measured the day. Lightly I fell asleep then, and fell. Into a cavernous dream of falling. It was all the cave-myths, it was all. Empty, I am soulless.

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marginal scribbling | marginalscribbling.blogspot.com Reviews

https://marginalscribbling.blogspot.com

Tuesday, 23 September 2014. FLEUR ADCOCK'S POEM 'INCIDENT'. When you were lying on the white sand,. A rock under your head, and smiling,. Circled by dead shells), I came to you. And you said, reaching to take my hand,. 8216;Lie down.’ So for a time we lay. Warm on the sand, talking and smoking,. Easy; while the grovelling sea behind. Sucked at the rocks and measured the day. Lightly I fell asleep then, and fell. Into a cavernous dream of falling. It was all the cave-myths, it was all. Empty, I am soulless.

INTERNAL PAGES

marginalscribbling.blogspot.com

1

marginal scribbling: VOLCANO

http://www.marginalscribbling.blogspot.com/2014/03/volcano.html

Wednesday, 26 March 2014. Small cones of flesh. Beached on the sand. The colours of clay. Sun-fried, sun-dried,. Raw umber, raw red,. Burnt ochre, burnt orange,. Brown and carbonised black. Rumble, bubble,. Protest, threaten,. In white bathroom craters. Smoked discs on top. Cover eyes and brain. That marvel and see,. Want to know more,. Small cones of flesh. Asleep on an volcano. It stood up and shuddered,. Stopped life with a shrug. It has no feelings,. No sense of its power,. It does not mind or watch.

2

marginal scribbling: January 2013

http://www.marginalscribbling.blogspot.com/2013_01_01_archive.html

Tuesday, 29 January 2013. The words spill out of me like tumbled beads. They won't lie flat like prose. Or sit tidily on the page and. So though I don't know anything. About pentameter or rhyme. They might perhaps be poetry? Ignis Fatuus and Noname. Monday, 28 January 2013. I must make notches in my days. Because I cannot bear this slide towards infinity. I must chip a little wedge from mundane chores,. Indent the grass on sunny lawns,. Slice a little feeling from a glance,. Ignis Fatuus and Noname.

3

marginal scribbling: BLACKENED

http://www.marginalscribbling.blogspot.com/2014/04/blackened.html

Thursday, 3 April 2014. Blackened, I am skinned with tar-paper. Tough, I am crazed like shattered glass. Castaway, I am rusted iron, cast out. Outlaw, I inherit the Badlands. The bitter gourd is what I eat,. The blood of snakes is what I drink. Empty, I am soulless. You do not expect to find my heart. Not even with your foot. Not even under your boot. I am the half-child you will not let be. I am the lover who knows you in part. I know you wholly but only in part. I know you are the bad good man.

4

marginal scribbling: January 2014

http://www.marginalscribbling.blogspot.com/2014_01_01_archive.html

Thursday, 23 January 2014. Six unsociable haiku writen too early or too late. It eats me instead. In a milk-white mist. Skimmed from the river, cows graze,. Turning grass to cream. Write much poetry after. Midnight or in bed. Of mist, lines of poplar. When the cook has gone,. Then the most dangerous place. Will be the kitchen. Put your hand on my. Thigh where its soft curve leads down. To the door to death. Ignis Fatuus and Noname. Saturday, 11 January 2014. THE EARTH HAS SUCH HUGE OLD BONES. Old Herne t...

5

marginal scribbling: PLANT LIFE

http://www.marginalscribbling.blogspot.com/2014/03/plant-life.html

Saturday, 29 March 2014. Then a spatter of white. Lichen like bird droppings. Dotted on the hot black lava rocks. The lichen curls and colours. Coalesces, spreads slow and greedy,. Silver, yellow, green and gold. Thick stems, waxy leaves,. Moist-bodied survival systems,. Will shrink and hide and wait. Again there is time. Always time. More time. A dome of delicate Fibonacci sticks. Netted over a tenacious lace of roots. Retains a green oval leaf and a tiny yellow star. There is more time. Art and Writing...

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marginal scribbling

Tuesday, 23 September 2014. FLEUR ADCOCK'S POEM 'INCIDENT'. When you were lying on the white sand,. A rock under your head, and smiling,. Circled by dead shells), I came to you. And you said, reaching to take my hand,. 8216;Lie down.’ So for a time we lay. Warm on the sand, talking and smoking,. Easy; while the grovelling sea behind. Sucked at the rocks and measured the day. Lightly I fell asleep then, and fell. Into a cavernous dream of falling. It was all the cave-myths, it was all. Empty, I am soulless.

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