If you would be pungent,be brief; for it is with words as with sunbeams – the more they are condensed the deeper they burn. Robert Southey (1774-1843)…… Read more “On Brevity, Robert Southey”
Tag: writing
R. M. Rilke, Blood-Remembering
“Ah! but verses amount to so little when one writes them young. One ought to wait and gather sense and sweetness a whole life long, and a…… Read more “R. M. Rilke, Blood-Remembering”
Soul Searching
Philosophical soul searching is never ending, but I suppose happiness, despair, and evil are very good places to start. > Kierkegaard’s Sickness Unto Death //Pivotal definitions in…… Read more “Soul Searching”
Wordsmith
Bliss is not ignorance.Nor is it out of reach. * Lately I find myself lost and adrift. Focus-less. My imagination is a slippery fish; an impossible customer;…… Read more “Wordsmith”
An Ode to Books
Dearest People, Books are brains, inside-out. Books are impossible, archaic, odd, and easy to dismiss – but only if unread. When read, books show us everything that…… Read more “An Ode to Books”
Connection and Peace.
We come with no knowledge to this place and share nothing with each other of the essential key that grows inside us like a living being, limned…… Read more “Connection and Peace.”
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…… Read more “i dream of rosehip tea.”
…That Thing with Wings
Autumn breathes on my facefrom afar — so fresh! — stirringevery unique nerve ending tosudden, electric life. As if my mother’s cool handrested gently on my arm,I’m…… Read more “…That Thing with Wings”
Capital
you reach out a hand to pull sky down, stars, yes the heavens themselvesare but bread to you, so you break it,break it all upon the ground,…… Read more “Capital”
Realism.s
My own particular brand of bleak is firm, and unambiguous enough to recognise our dark as a basic truth: the world-rending fire of the human soul is…… Read more “Realism.s”
Potent.ial
at the end of days all days, including today, I am terrified of tomorrow, as if every sleep is a death, a dreamless, black hole that will…… Read more “Potent.ial”
work
A poet’s work is no respector of designations like quantity, or achievement, or target, start, and finish. We dance to the beat of our own loves, our…… Read more “work”
Poet (dried).
This is trench warfare. As bloody useless and harrowing as. No one really gains ground. No one really wins. Even waiting or withholding takesone to the grave,…… Read more “Poet (dried).”
Levertov, Dust
A Gift Just when you seem to yourselfnothing but a flimsy webof questions, you are giventhe questions of others to holdin the emptiness of your…… Read more “Levertov, Dust”
^folk, (o)=e
excerpt from my journal: ———————”I think there’s really something magical about folk music. I’m sitting in Connemara in a pub and there’s these 3 guys just chillin’…… Read more “^folk, (o)=e”
Today
I cannot write. Cannot write, cannot write cannotwritecannotwrite.There is nothing to say, it’s all been read,saidanddone. I cannot writeright: my idealism won’t countenance these mongrel awkwardnesses, won’tafford…… Read more “Today”
contact.
stars spark in the blackened deep: fingertips of the gods (carefully holding in bright hands a ravaged planet, burnt flowers drifting down from each. point. of. contact.…… Read more “contact.”
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making art: metaphor, metamorphosis, metastasis, m e a n i n g c. Kate Gough Photo by Pierre Bamin on Unsplash
Kate Gough 