I never got the chance to sing it for you but the song came on on the bus home, blooms in hand. There’s supposed to be 7 but I only had 5 because fate wasn’t good at math. Your birthday is also my cheat day, and I could roll like a cat in the sun…
Category: Poetry
AN ODE TO BJORK’S LOSSS
When Bjork released Vulnicura, she gave in to her heartbreak. Utopia followed, and it promised the renewal of life after the fall. So when Losss came on, it was an assassination in paradise. It took me by surprise, and easily became my favourite track. Pendulous, orbital rhythm hovering above the plaintive lyrics. I couldn’t make…
A POEM FOR OCT 4 2017
秋风见冬顶 银湖流满月 独农下马村 仓守春蜜罐 Roughly translated: Autumn winds meet winter peaks The lake is silver from the full moon light A lone farmer returns to Horse Village Where a store guards Spring honey pots
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Swathe me in ink. The night sky and her moon. Sprinkle my forehead with galaxies. And let starry rays lampoon, all woven thoughts & seeds.
Where in the world are you at?
Where in the world are you at? Are you beneath the curling leaf, a cosy caterpillar of hibernating show? I think maybe you will show yourself upon the next step’s ripple. Maybe between the breath of the seconds, you will slip like a dancer between prismatic veil. And you will smile gladly at my mortal…
fair tales
no. there cannot be that hidden wood, where apple drips last wishes and sorrow. would i but hold yet another word for your flight – edged with nettle and down. dive deep my sweet, for your simple dreams, and rise you will. amongst the titans, hair a golden flourish, feet a gossamer blur, tell me….
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We rule the forest, and we run through the green, tree shadows dappling like a herd of grey stallions. Moist dew sprays released by thrashing ferns, liquid stars of a moment, melt into the moss, created by our careless brush. This flight of ours may be eternal, impressed as a scene of joyful abandonment, but…
Tribute to The Hours
there is nothing to capture the strains of the hours when you are lying on a carpet of thoughts the languid gravity laps at the ears as a cold warmth rises feeling of soft hands vignettes lines commas and pauses all things unsaid and others not unforgotten breathe out their purpose and the whispered air…
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in steps of three we take down pebbled thoughts on healthy knees, the stroll around the shell within or one of the many of these can let us see the glowing moth, the sleeping owl, the green-barked tree, or chance that opening through for the drowning salmon, the messy spider, mayhaps the walking snake that…
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it was moving inside curling and unfurling and i held on to the reins to the river handles of imaginary will and temporary sanity flicking fickle-dom of white, gold and sprays it goes where it wants it collects where it rests and never and never will it end that is the beauty of this state
Falling light, rising shadows
I thought it was time to go the way the light was falling across, flaming the leaves into a mess of patterns.
Dust
The star fell. Silver sliver and cold sparks flailing against the sleeping sky, but no one made a wish. And yet it still flashed brilliant diamond, til there was nothing left but a smokey trail of dreams, dust and what could have been. And no one made a wish.
MORGAN AWYONG 