By the sea shoreThere's a sound like the ocean when you put your ear to a conch shell. Or it's supposed to be the ocean. Lynn's always thought otherwise.By the sea shore by anapests-and-ink
It's the sound of pulling and pushing and sighing and rushing.
Feral, fierce echoes.
There's a bone in your ear that's shaped like a shell. Lynn thinks that's why the conch is so special; it’s a link, a familiarity that grasps as deep as your bones.
She found her conch on a trip to Cedar Key, with Tommy and Lizzie and Helen. They wandered along the sand, skipping in and out of waves, watching the water eat the shore. Lynn liked the way each wave flattened along the beach, grasping greedy at her toes. Tommy and Lizzie whooped war cries at seagulls. Helen chased a hermit crab from the tide line to a tidal pool. Lynn gathered driftwood and seaglass, searching for the perfect natural knicknack. The conch shell was half-buried in seaweed. She washed it, standing calf-deep in the body of the
Ezra and the ImagistesImagism was not created in a classroom, or in a gathering of academics. The Imagist movement was born in a Kensington tea-shop in the spring of 1912, at a meeting between three good friends: Ezra Pound, Hilda Doolittle (better known as H.D.), and Richard Aldington. “Like other American expatriates,” Richard Aldington later wrote, “Ezra and H.D. developed an almost insane relish for tea. Thus it came about that most of our meetings took place in the rather prissy milieu of some infernal bun-shop full of English Spinsters” (134). This particular meeting had been called by Ezra Pound, upon receiving copies of a handful of H.D.'s latest poems. “Ezra was so much worked up by these poems of H.D.'s that he removed his pince-nez and informed us that we were Imagists” (Aldington 135).Ezra and the Imagistes by anapests-and-ink
What exactly is an Imagist? Harold Monro, in his article "The Imagists Discussed," wrote
They have not at any time taken much trouble to
O Dan Rot.Dan Rot, a manO Dan Rot. by claytonwoolery
of considerable comic timing
who came on rackety wings around the globe
in thirty days or so,
visiting once again with a night on his heels
copping feels on innocent ladies pillowed in bathtubs,
i was black like night
and i was ringed in rainfall
i was so glorious
a spiraling psyche led me to one thing
and this town never could have contained me
a spinning science to my insanity
bends in the system and curves of the power lines
a beauty to plywood and splinter breaks that cannot be defined
bends in the path, a northward slide
strand you in a parking lot
i was vicious and viscous
and i was perfect
as i die i know you have too
as i fade over snapped trees
all is quiet and all is dead
and i curved away.
Ms. Civit, a woman
of considerable jazz influence
who culled in her snatch fifty thousand
squirming little nothings
ravished by the callous allure of Mr. Rot
(who raped her mercilessly,)
on the ground on the ground and the fever is rising
upside down min
Southern GothicCome on mother -Southern Gothic by Scarlettletters
put down that pitchfork
and leave the buttermilk till morning.
The cows have been fed
and the roosters are roosting
like black boots in a cupboard.
Cherry pie is on the table
and I got my gun,
clean as kittens,
from the closet shelf.
I got the baby's bones
in a bag
and you got your knitting;
so we can sit in these rockers
and pray the radio
will wash away all our sins.
Maybe the kids will come by
and this roof will keep sinking,
closing over our heads
just like a single bullet.
Cops Arrest Death for GraffitiToday, two members of the NYPD have arrested a black-cloaked offender for vandalizing the wall of a Midtown Manhattan skyscraper. Upon dragging them to the police station, they discovered that the person was genderless and used the hood of the cloak to conceal a rather troubling lack of skin, meat, eyes or nose on an otherwise lively skull.Cops Arrest Death for Graffiti by TheOtherSarshi
"We realized," officer Jobson says, "that this was not your ordinary criminal - I mean, most of the people we bring over have some identifying features and while I suppose that having a skull for a head is identifying, it's just... Troubling. What do you write in the 'skin colour' or 'eye colour' boxes, you know?" Upon being asked how he fared with this discovery, he answered after some consideration, "I've never seen a real skull before. It was odd."
His colleague, John Daffodil, says about his near-Death experience, "My old mum got quite a fright when she called me and I said I'd met Death. She thought I'd been shot or something. Anyway, a policem
A Happy EndingFull stop was tired of being the party pooper. Whenever she turned up everything would come to a complete halt.A Happy Ending by SCFrankles
It was time to try something new.
She applied to become the top half of a semicolon. This was better—when she and her partner arrived, there would be a pause but then things would get going again. However, full stop wanted to be more involved. She wanted excitement!
And so she ran away to the mathematical circus.
She learnt how to hang underneath the obelus (÷), she learnt how to smile while posing gracefully at the apex of the therefore sign (∴) and she learnt how to balance at the very top of the vertical ellipsis (⋮).
But unfortunately the numbers didn’t add up, and she was let go again.
It was back to being a full stop. She looked around and did manage to find a very nice sentence.
She’s so entranced by her ruby rings all the time.
But he already had his ending.
They kept in touch though, and one day he popped the question.
as obvious as neon signsLast night I picked you up from a glass-littered street corneras obvious as neon signs by bonfirelights
and helped you wipe bile from your strands of flaxen hair.
You sang under your breath as you stumbled into the car.
I turned corners while streetlights shimmered in the drops on the windscreen
and you fell asleep trying to tell me that you used to know better than this.
It’s not that I mind
(I’d spend every night combing seedy cities if it meant keeping you safe)
your eyes haven’t smiled in a year now
and I wish that I knew what it would take to make you happy
because between cheap liquor, cold nights and bad lovers
I haven’t got a clue.
Imagism was not created in a classroom, or in a gathering of academics. The Imagist movement was born in a Kensington tea-shop in the spring of 1912, at a meeting between three good friends: Ezra Pound, Hilda Doolittle (better known as H.D.), and Richard Aldington. “Like other American expatriates,” Richard Aldington later wrote, “Ezra and H.D. developed an almost insane relish for tea. Thus it came about that most of our meetings took place in the rather prissy milieu of some infernal bun-shop full of English Spinsters” (Life 134). This particular meeting had been called by Ezra Pound, upon receiving copies of a handful of H.D.'s latest poems. “Ezra was so much worked up by these poems of H.D.'s that he removed his pince-nez and informed us that we were Imagists” (Aldington Life 135).
a Deconstructionist. It's my religion.
a writer and a reader. Both are equally important.
always willing to leave a comment. Just ask.