Category: PA
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Day 14 & 16 NovPAD
Whispered Encomiums And when the earth is dead, when it lays stiff and cold with one candle by its head and another set at its feet, we’ll mourn its passing in whispered encomiums of bird song and cedars, blue chiffon skies and seas salt-dyed and unkempt as we say rosaries, and recite from flyblown books…
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Day 15 NovPAD
A Grey Strange [a very drafty draft] Fog has me thinking about grey, its illusion of flatness, its angles of play. Like the village pond, a still grey — fog has no reflection, and the edges of trees are absorbed in its brine. Nothing hums. Nothing sings. Birds are unhinged by it. Mist washes green…
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Day 13 NovPAD
An Alley in Old Cartagena I will forever be in your red clay bricks, amongst a thousand footsteps. Tread upon and equatorial bake. I want to be part of your streets, of cobbled narrows, and alleys into gardens. My secrets coveted by heavy doors of wood caramelised brown by the sun. I count centuries of…
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Day 12 NovPAD
Touchstones and Shifty Natures That side of the hill was a dirt slide after it was logged clear, though the loggers claimed the land was of shifty nature, but it turned into a seething body waging war on fifty or so families who called this dirt home. Hindsight knew it a fat belly begging to…
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Day 11 NovPAD
whispering all that hope that she inhaled deep into her lungs — unlucky girl, she’s afraid to her own whispered wishes Poetic Asides: Day 11 “Unlucky”
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Day 10.1 NovPAD
Where Do the Hours Go It’s just past 4pm, and the sun is going down, but for now it’s caught on crisses and crosses of aeroplane contrails. Those tic-tac-toe kisses, each trace an hour passing, rose-hued and translucent, and glued to the sky. Poetic Asides Day 10: Go Somewhere
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Day 10 NovPAD
Navidad en Bogotá We bought a cheap suitcase at Poundland. It’s a cavernous monster. Burgundy colour, which I suspect will bleed like beetroot all over everything at the first hint of rain, but no worries because we and it are heading to Bogotá next month, and although it can tip down rain there, it’s an…
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Day 9 NovPAD
What If I can’t think of a single blank-if thing to write – I’d drink a glass a water (7 more to go) check WhatsApp for overnight messages pace the kitchen floor from the fridge to the sink – helps me to think pick bread crumbs off the oriental and I’m thinking Prizzi’s Honor all…
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Day 8 NovPAD
A Crow’s Feast in that darkness in that silence in the simple of the night, the topmost branch escaped its clutch, it fumbled with the wind. it fell, it scrambled down the rattling air, fell upon the apple tree, where there upon the ground, now apples apples bounce, now a hop a hop by a…
It's Still Life 