the balrog* falls from the bridge in moria to its doom, and gandalf falls with it. the evil never falls alone. it always – always takes the good down with it.
my mother still safely in hospital. the roads have become un-navigable because of snowstorms. i am stuck in this city, with student papers and myself.
to see the fire. again, anew.
the burning bush. the pillar.
to feel the warmth, the touch,
the light which is the first light.
i am only a poet
in a world of too many words.
min moðor forðferde.
i think it was the best for the given circumstances, she died like the active person she was. in action. for which i admire her.
there is a reason why the ancient bards died out. it was the training, according to one of my students.
Bardic training formed the core of druidic teaching. The future bards had to learn raw poems, at least three hundred and fifty stories and study poetic form and grammar.
(from an unpublished, and unpublishable BA paper draft)
and suddenly, it is june.
the greens have become saturated, the young crows learn to climb trees, and eventually to fly squeakingly, kittens romp in courtyards next to their dejected fierce mothers, students complain of too much to do all of a sudden, teachers collapse quietly, lilac blossoms, drowning out the stench or the rowans.
well. i like the seeing of the picture… i’m just too bad at photography. and i have some prejudices, like avoiding taking pictures of humans, and totally abhorring pictures being taken of my precious self. i think photos remove parts of my soul, and it hurts. and i think i have the right, same as any other tribesperson, to keep my soul whole. whatever them western ppl say about enlightened education and photos being just photos.
the annual ‘lux perpetua’, etc etc post.
i can forget. no problem with forgetting. but my body does not. the annual dissonance.
and i want to stop it, take a screwdriver, unscrew the frame, take the insides out. sort them into neat piles, throw out loads of stuff, re-arrange the rest, so that all things have space. then unravel the mess of connectors and neatly connect everything appropriately, without knots and dubious liaisons.
i am a bat
challenged in the
and so i was walking tonight, and i felt it. someone looking at me. and i looked round to see, who.
and i saw her. up in a lilac tree.