Untimely

You have come home to a winter, My starling, To the blades of grass Enamelled in frost; The clouds have grizzled over A terrain of brown trees Leaflessly dreaming, Bereft of sap. Child of celestial bodies, now Where’s your worm, When even the crows Duel in hunger In a wind harsh and stripping Away the […]

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archaeology

One day, digging up the forest floor, They will stumble upon something white. Something hard to identify, even to tell apart From the peat moss and mycelium, something Brittle and crumbling, even delicate To the exploring fingers. It will stain whatever it touches, So they will not forget The strange encounter. Today, though, it is […]

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Green ink

You know what they say about those who use green ink? Should I say – yes- she thought, all the words emerald. I’d have to research that, she nodded, words verdant and flourishing, sprouting a maze in her head. Green. The colour of death — Of the plants foraging for corpses with their toesies. The […]

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dry spell

Sometimes we snap. Like dry branches, like frost, And bury the others with us. Chips from a lightning-struck oak, Splinters of pine, unruly cones All in a heap, rushed To a conflagration. Sometimes the ragged Edges know only to tear, And heal all crooked. Flames lick at the dark Fluid inkiness Stabbed with stars And […]

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headlights

the red blotch on the asphalt was not. could not be. red. more of the grey. grainy and rough, like a dead puddle. the road-marks kept silence and shone in the dark till the cars all left and their headlights with them. in the dark, all red is black. what will remain when/as the liquid […]

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june 3, 2019

Today he would have been 36. Three dozen years on this earth, under this sun. Who knows how life would have turned out, what his story would have been. We, who loved him, still do, I’m sure of it. We measure the time by his death: before he died, the year he died, after he […]

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green arches

Listen. Time passes. D. Thomas The green trajectory a leaf Leaves when floating to the floor, Cuts the air in arches. Time measures us all, Time allows us to fall Almost to the ground, and grinds Our memories for its tea. The green whispers in passing, Somersaulting through the landscape Of things that grow and […]

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between the mud and the blue

Up to my ankles in pollen, floating in recent puddles, whilst grumpy grandchildren watch, restrained by frantic grammas, I laugh. To be grown-up sometimes means to step into puddles and smell roses and jump to a tune played inside your own head. I laugh, and walk into rain envied by children, seen by the shuddering […]

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ko vairs atceros*

vējš parauj smiltis un pērnās lapas un kūlas stiebrus vecos kapos un kopto pagalmu kaktos, kur kaķi, vārnas un lustīgi sīļi svin pavasari starp gandrīz dīgstošām zīlēm, snieg- pulkstenēm un dažiem purpura krokusiem puspavērtiem. virpuļo sīkumi, skaidas saskaitās pulkos, pārlec žogiem, dzīviem un stiepļu rombiņos sapītiem, vīnogu- lāju noklātām zvirbuļu laktām, aizšvīkst līdz strazdu amata […]

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Metonīmijas

Vienu baltu rozi, Kad viss pārējais nozied – Pār kritušām lapām, Kad ēnas kļūst gaŗas, Kad elpojam atvasaru, Un saule pār takām. Vienu zaļu ērkšķi, Ko apcirstā vāzē iemērkt Pie melnām saknēm, Vienu siltu roku Zem kailajiem kokiem, Kad rudens atnāk Raudzīties zvaigznēs, Kur dvēseles aiznes Vējš garām kapiem.

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a star unrepentant

a pale star through the benighted branches blurred by lack of glasses i breathe four point three below zero and blink out of order where the crows sleep secretly black shadows on black, their dreams contagious, simple, crawling with edible garbage in plenty more steps over the brittle dead leaves smell like so many autumns […]

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Twenty. Gifts

i am part of a denomination which has a very strange attitude to women. women in general are, not unlike the children of the victorian era, to be seen, but not heard. women who think about ministry, however little, are to be walked through like they did not exist at all. yes, there are few […]

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rose vs. begonia

roses look cool, and are interesting to raise. begonias look green and red and white and yellow, and are not presumptuous. but if asked to choose between them, i will probably say that i like chrysanthemums best. those shaggy, yellow or white, heavy-headed flowers with the bitter smell. kiku-no-hana.

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rites

rites and rituals make the world achievable, structured, thinkable. lists go in threes, and if one is missing, we add the etc, just to complete the ritual of lists going in threes. there is the personal morning ritual with the beverage and alarm, and hunting of socks, and the greetings, and partings – the oil […]

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kā reizēm gadās uztrāpīt uz cilvēka lappušu malām, un baložu vietā sirds vēstules nez kāpēc pārnēsā dzēse (jo baloži vienkārši nav pārāk inteliģenti)

uz malām, mēs toreiz rakstījām uz malām un neatgriešanos, kad vēja pusē salām mūs gārņi ievīla. uz malām un vienā laidā, tā bez kādām šuvēm no rokām vien mēs ugunskuri kļuvām uz neatgriešanos. kā dzēses ūdensrozēs mēs lapas sagriezām, kas tika tev, kas – man, to neizlasīt kartupeļu grozos. uz malām mēs rakstījām no paša […]

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considering

well, it seems i have started drawing thought-pictures or feeling-pictures or those pictures where there is sth of  the other-ness. and this time i have as much clue as to whether that is good or bad as the last time. the change is in the air. have to think of that. meanwhile, here is one of […]

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nineteen – reverence

like that first moment of truth, when the eyes of lovers meet never to be repeated, never lived again, but ever remembered as the foundation of all that was and will be  – that first breath in you extends over all my days and unslept hours. in you all colours are bright, and all the […]

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september 28

the little wings of a ladybird flash by my face, dissipating into the distance of speckled reds and greens and the smell of the leaves, falling. i regret forgetting my camera.

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flying with silences

i look to the night moth when the wind waits patiently in the susurrus of leaves to borrow the silence of wings that carries me back and onwards, into the sigh of memories, moments, remembrances, shared shards of a life and experience that are lost irreversibly. under the cover of midnight green i will put […]

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