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“The dark eagles, sleep and death, Rustle all night around my head: The golden statue of man Is swallowed by the icy comber Of eternity. On the frightening reef The purple remains go to pieces, And the dark voice mourns Over the sea.Sister in my wild despair Look, a precarious skiff is sinking Under the stars, The face of night whose voice is fading.”

— Georg Trakl, “Mourning,” trans. James Wright and Robert Bly (via bellswithin)

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Dordogne, France (by alh1)

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The winds of March have hushed to rest, All quiet lie the fields; Returning life is manifest And woods put on their shields.

Old Night, a juggler, drops his dark Soft cover on the hills, With every star a shining spark. Like grist from heavenly mills.

Spring loosens all conventions shrined Beneath my Gypsy blood; I'd barter every one to find The first arbutus bud.

The grime of cities fades and goes Before the pagan lamp That burns in each unopened rose, Cut deep with spring's fresh stamp.

And April comes with cap and bells, Half laughter and half tears, Or dons a priest's dark robe and tells Her beads of passing years.

Song For April by Virginia Taylor McCormick

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Argyle Diamonds wool a pipe stone steps a fire crackling rain a gate memories moaning wind tomorrow yesterday soft laughter hard kisses birds on currents quiet trees a book socks.

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Now all the names I’ve named myself, characters. My name is worth more than two different things. I stole away into the wee hours, actually morning. A most mysterious way to make things happen.. as if in motion, a display of all my encrypted eventful memories, of somewhere I’ve been to, who I’ve been with. But I have only one name, yet there are many temptations of delight, that through my actions this takes me to places of appeasement.

Nothing was open at that hour, not even the breakfast diners. There’s no storm, it was a clear morning. I’ve just left mainstream and have gone undetected, in the darkness throwing off my surveillance. The key to all of this is staying alive. I left on a record player playing music, an old LP record repeating the sound due to a defective skipping noise. That and a few lights on outside. I didn’t go anywhere, I just made a practice run, I am heading back now. All of my bad ideas, I keep thinking about.

#my blog #spilled words #whatmatters #writing #my words #my photo post

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The Meaning of Existence

by Les Murray

Everything except language knows the meaning of existence. Trees, planets, rivers, time know nothing else. They express it moment by moment as the universe.

Even this fool of a body lives it in part, and would have full dignity within it but for the ignorant freedom of my talking mind.

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I’ve flown off to a destination that suits me. I’ve been gaping at it. I have to ask though, if by me having been hushed, now to my research of these things, and these are simply modern times and to tell you the truth that I’m swayed by a theory, a mode of transportation that is useful to me, then off I go by being pushed out the door by your shushing me.

I guess I should ask, have you spotted me? Where did I go? It was a busy place. I was busy there or pretending to be. It was a place that carries on 24/7. I’ve come here to observe the commonalities purposefully. I find myself sitting in a chair quite contentedly. If you have in fact seen me there I wonder. Yes, I did see prying eyes upon me, it was anyone’s guess though.

#my words #my blog #spilled words #my photo post #lasvegas

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Vilnius, Lithuania

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Chania, Crete, Greece (by Matthieu)

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Rome

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Peace of Mind

I think there is only one word for it all; mainstay. It’s when you put your attention to something, it’ll be mainstay. And all the effects of the streaming services, pending your report, they’re all mainstay, even though the others have slipped through barely unnoticed. That your version of decor is mainstay, there are some examples, inspired by your work in your home. They only get your attention. Yes, they are mainstay.

Steady now, to know the fevers of distractions by looking too much at mainstays often caused by wanting more than your mainstay items; people, places and things. The stories are held the moment when sounds hastily echo, repeating what you have just heard. You didn’t get it right the first time. Now you want them back. They are mainstays. There you have your answers to all of them. You look at them admirably, almost certain there are none others.

#writing #my words #spilled words #whatmatters #my post

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I think we all learn - eventually, how to describe ourselves of our own qualifications, in a limited number of ways, photography, so as to simplify life in its simplified form.

Of certain efforts, assemblies made, of food recipes, the foods we eat. They’re likely to not be made presentable enough. They have no basis for shape or form of what you normally expect to see as depicted in an article. I’m also even throwing in expositions, how history was made, to the effects of certain happenings in culture, museum pieces, junk yards.

#my post #my photo post #my blog #writing

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ph. Danko Maksimovic - Hamburg, Germany (2024)

Film: Kodak Portra 800

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Birmingham, England

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