039. petals

The sun today, brought to mind all the clichés about hammers, and saunas; the sheer weight of it pushing me down, slumped in my office with the fan fingering warm air around and I swell like patted dough. 6hours of workshop too, talking about how we should talk more, or talk to different people, or talk in a different way or talk more often. Or just talk to hear ourselves talk. I hate the way my voice becomes strident when I want people to shut up. Picked again for circles, for some edginess, and for the title is Carianne Garside's piece "inside things you hold"

We are not in sync today. I guess that is the way things are but we usually both wilfully ignore that and concentrate on the things we want to see in each other. Today my flower, you do not metaphorically show me your stamen, we are not burst together from the bud where we lay tightly furled, and today it seems as though we do not want that again. Reaching out to the light and time is so short. We let the inside things drop. When the petals fall, we may look back and regret.

023. Here be dragons

I was inspired today (again) by Catherine Singer's Icelandic pictures (I have to ration myself or half of my posts would be on Iceland too); and also Barbara Laucius's beach pictures, of broken down driftwood, entitled Beach Worn. Taking Staffa (day 21) into the mix also, along with the eye-shaped curves in Carianne Garside's days 20-22, and admiring the word "basalt", the heaviness and solidity of it, the shiny wet blackness...

  

      Breaking the surface, basalt scales
            drip, dully sheened; sun warming
                  anthracite back. Flex wing muscles,
                        expecting a geological grinding, but
                              silent. Earthbound in the step-off
                                    point between sea and layered airs,
                                          leap to regain fluidity. Somersaults
                                                of pewter, tumbling your buildings.