DIRT ROAD HERITAGE SOCIETY

DIRT ROAD HERITAGE SOCIETY

power issues

power issues
power issues

Moon Phase




POETRY

Saturday, September 27

The Minimalist





sometimes i think thou art a flower expanding
sometimes i think thou art a fruit breaking from its bud
- William Blake


a small pile of earth
in the middle of a vast floor space
hovering above it
 a pair of Sphinge
hessian
sacks
used for various purposes
windows
open to the scene
the air
all the elements
of a life
each in its place
dried flowers hanging upside down
along 
walls of stone
alcoves holding
small objects
and mice

the occasional bird visits
the fire burns
on lonely nights
while the vigil
wakes
the dreamer

the suspended Sphinges
glint in the light
made of brass
they are like small deities
asking riddles
and
answering them
in turn

pages turn
incense burns
the cauldron bubbles
bread is broken
baked on stones

charcoal
from willow picked
out of the past
renders
dreams into form

roses grow
at the sill

no
no
no
no
no


cherries in a bowl
upon a small table
which rocks

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