A social site for poets in Sydney.
I lived in the archive of
His colourful, chaotic past
For two months
Sleeping with the Dust and Boxed Relics
Of his old life
The life he said he’d out grown
The Skin he said he’d Shed
His fashionable fox fur coat
And Hall of Packed Paintings
His One Hundred and One Shirts…
ContinueAdded by Cynthia Lewis-Jones on December 4, 2014 at 3:10 — No Comments
Up in the warm womb of Heidelberg
surrounded by lush sub tropical plants
palms, and the song of the Thrush
embraced by the ever changing skyline
wave riders, and Atlantic winds:
the stream of consciousness flows...
Added by Cynthia Lewis-Jones on June 19, 2011 at 23:30 — No Comments
......it was a few days out past the island of Haiti, and stories of the White Witch of Rose Hall, where the rough indigo blue of the Atlantic became the far gentler turquoise waters of the Caribbean. (I was only eleven years old) . The Atlantic ocean seemed like a lonley and desolate expanse to me: the murky blue waters,extending all the way out to the horizon, on all sides, the ocassional passing of ships, the constant churning of the waves, the eternal rocking motion of the…
ContinueAdded by Cynthia Lewis-Jones on June 11, 2011 at 10:30 — No Comments
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