Author Archives: todadwithlovepoetryandprose

Reading

A familiar name. And in the busy field of words a memory steps with your image beyond the page. To the end of the book I would have walked with you.

Untitled

I sometimes think: it’s just that We always forget we can never really Understand anybody When your wife becomes upset you want to take her to dinner When your father is disappointed you have done good And gone bourgeois, it is so confusing Now just like that is this idea: That we will forever be […]

etude

A pot of basil on the window-sill A lamp-post bending over a street, not lighting just looking A man blowing cigarette-smoke, eyes narrowing A hand on an ignition-switch A cat playing in sawdust A girl studying her profile on a hand-glass An arm lolling beyond the bed A skirt flipping about the ankle over a […]

Promenade

I have nothing to do so I take a tram to the city to go for a walk among the shoppers. First down the main street and a man in a kaftan-shirt and dreadlocks is crouched drawing Jesus with chalk on the footpath. It is nearly Christmas, after all. Then, onto the avenue where summer-shorts […]

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I pick up a petal from the garden bed; I am not forlorn. Camellia, you should know better than to drop your clothes and show thy true colours. There is this thing we call persona. You are too vain to bother, I am not convinced enough to insist. O Camellia, stop being so aloof; nuances […]

Fibre

I was becoming totally cynical, indifferent and brittle, angry, disavowed when I sat down to watch Lost in Translation again and went for a walk in the local park back to that movie again and again. I re-read the letters my dad wrote me and now turn again to Frost, still convinced everything is fake […]

2.34 am

Still, a quiet not won by character or craft, too often contrived and insincere fills the violent hour. A respite inside suffering, bricks on the forehead, as stone on loose paper, is like this when the moon looks me in the eye looks me in the mind and says Carry and feel the sag, feel […]