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A BLOG OF IMAGES AND POME'S....
ISINGLASS


Reading Elizabeth Bishop, the poems blur
Like looking through as she says: ’isinglass’
Everything becomes translucent, mapped out
On the page.  Her rhymes aren’t just rhymes but
Fixtures of life, they find their own form.

Wow, I wish I could write like that
I don’t even have any form but I’m searching
For her sequence in the inlets of Donegal
At the Fishouses along the Ray River
I saw them somewhere before.

Going through old poems to find sea shore
I hope this poem moves in and out
And reflects her sense of belonging
I’ll never get the old man and the sea.

Not now that I’m here all alone but

I can read a master in my own seal-skin.

Comments

  1. adrian fox25 October 2017 at 07:03

    BLOW IN
    My penis is like a ball of wool
    withdrawn inside me.
    There are no sexual connotation’s
    Here just a ball tied up in the middle.
    We have got to see beyond ourselves.
    The buck stops here, and I must
    Go on through the world of pro-
    Found suffering where no one
    Is to blame. Life is for the living
    Dying song. The souls of a million
    Dead flow through this mortal coil.
    Even if you’re in the hall and death
    Is at your front door, answer it with
    A smile and take the post from them.
    When you open the letter, you will
    know just how much they love you
    it will blow away your mind.

    ReplyDelete

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