Tuesday, April 26, 2016

Anna Couani #112 balmy days

the balmy days say summer
but the leaves are already falling
pine needles like a soft mattress
and the colours of these things
so much like autumn
the painter with the gum leaves
accurate with colour
an accuracy taken for granted these days
and our first alphabet lesson
all those years ago
under the big pine tree
with Mrs Harvey
the small glossy letters
she held up
the floor to ceiling books in the library
in the School of Arts building
reading my way through them
on a bed in the sunshine
bicycle rides along the dirt roads
the hum of the railroad tracks
the coal, the sheep
lace curtains
casement windows with coloured panes
some flies dead along the window sill
thinking now of that town
full of ordinary memories
like the horse that ate all the lettuce
growing in the garden
the privet hedge that had to be dug out


  1. yes, it's lovely... stringing all those images in a strand. sometimes I think writing poetry is a bit like weaving, and like knitting, sometimes, too.

  2. I think of stitching often in relation to putting words together.

  3. Yes true. I think of it like pulling on a fishing line sometimes. Or unravelling knitting, pulling on a thread


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