Flow, Earth

We haven't room to simply let down our hair and full-Being flow anymore (. . .  did we ever? We try at clubs, through music laughter and loving children, through food and hobbies, but We live lives of stuttering action pinned like fading butterflies to an event-oriented oblivion. It's not modernity but rather the building…Read more Flow, Earth

i dream of rosehip tea.

it was months ago when i picked rosehips along my path home by the sea, slipping each one like a little gold nugget into the pockets of my grey, zip-up jumper. i’d imagined doing it so many, many times, like a child in a candy shop, reaching up to pluck the beauties down; this time,…Read more i dream of rosehip tea.

…That Thing with Wings

Autumn breathes on my face from afar — so fresh! — stirring every unique nerve ending to sudden, electric life. As if my mother’s cool hand rested gently on my arm, I’m startled awake. And out from the ashes of languid, summer days, my heart rises up and up, spiralling higher, higher, and higher still, feathered and beating…Read more …That Thing with Wings

Pores

The world gets into our pores and writes on us lines with the clay of earth, warmth of sun bite of wind caress ; sorrow & joy clog our faces with our insides, the experience of our lived Grind:connected. Existentially, we are slow-born sculptures that tell of a daring hand a fiery eye, laced with…Read more Pores

The Ever-Processing Machine

I can’t find my incense. I don’t want to write. I desperately want nothing more than to write. For ever. So then, perhaps I’m just a stymied masochist at heart(less), doomed to miserable inaction for the rest of my days. I do not dedicate myself as I should, as I need. . . There’s a…Read more The Ever-Processing Machine

Meteora (c)

0% c. Mary Kathryn Gough Black & White film 100 or 400, Jan 2005 Monastics used to climb up into these crags and crevices to pray and meditate. There were then monasteries built near the top of some, with wrist-thick rope nets let down on pulleys for visitors. Since then, steps have been carved into…Read more Meteora (c)

Idiolalia Poetry Collection Now Available!

Hello all 🙂 Thank you all so much for your support. Idiolalia is available straight from the printer now at 3 GBP or 5 USD each (or a cheaper PDF ebook copy). If you order from Lulu through the link provided here it should be sent straight to your house, super-easy. The price may change…Read more Idiolalia Poetry Collection Now Available!

From For the Light

Solstice There is little snow on the ground when you begin your morning walk on this the shortest day of the year. This is the season of gathering cold, the fading memory of spring. Light flows slowly through the woods, a light you could harvest like grain or scoop into your astonished mouth the way…Read more From For the Light

conservation of matter / energy

woke this morning, lifted salty eyes to a small window frosted with chill. condensed upon the pane: night's dew from my cheeks and shining eyes, transformed. outside, dark-needled giants bow, scrape Earth, weighed down with the weight of my heart; white as snow. somewhere, a cardinal wreaks havoc.   c. Mary Kathryn Gough 11/9/05 11.53…Read more conservation of matter / energy

.Rest~

.rest ~ why is it that by night the world draws on garments of familiarity (comforting as an old and beloved blanket: a gentle guise devised of moonlit floors, leaves over- shadowing walls with quiet motions and nurturing instinct, nursing over- stimulated eyes with a simple cadence, simple cadence, cadence...). {darkness} the secret of the…Read more .Rest~

Jane Eyre

this might need a wee bit of editing, but here is the main for the moment. A Historical Reading of Charlotte Bronte's Jane Eyre Charlotte Bronte's crisp and hauntingly heartful Jane Eyre, when read with an eye towards its historical perspective, is remarkably informative of the age in which its heroine lived. Jane is admittedly…Read more Jane Eyre

Ministrations

'Ministrations'  ~ a winter window weakly thrashing, bony limbs glisten under the ministrations of a light which provides no heat. frozen rain falls steadily bitter weeping melting flat white knives into the tools i will use to stay alive when all the tears are gone. watching the weak, half-hearted tossings and turnings of a slow,…Read more Ministrations

Liquid Language

two o'clock in the morning, dull and grey outside with the soft sound of (hundreds of thousands of) millions of raindrops springing out of the air and coming softly to rest on gravel, grass, snow, leaves, dirt, and rocks. Pitter-patterput-put-put, splish-splashand dripdrip-drop.   from a distance, the sounds run together and the resultant river sounds…Read more Liquid Language