Night prowls, scratches sand, & then pads on,
the gnomes are sleeping in their gnomish homes,
when darkness is increased by 1, to 7
& from the icy waters underground
a scarlet eagle rises, showers gold
on all. Floating down, the light resounds
blindingly – flap flicker flicker / Blam pow pow –
& all the land is lime and limpid green.
Amidst the grass, dandelions thrive.
Buttercups cup the light in the foggy dew.
Change, return, success, going & coming,
nothing can be destroyed once & for all:
Look at the sun, look at the sky, look at the river
lazily winding, finding its way to sea.
---
George Dance
Good Dr. Hofmann would be proud.....
black hash, blue smoke, sleepless dreams--
the meat of my toes
curls in my boots: ten
little red link sausages
steam on a white breakfast plate.
Hmmm ... yes, it does sound like that, doesn't it? That's interesting,
because that wasn't part of the idea of this one, but it is of the
next one in the series; and I've always thought they belonged
together.
> black hash, blue smoke, sleepless dreams--
> the meat of my toes
> curls in my boots: ten
>
> little red link sausages
> steam on a white breakfast plate.
That could get interesting ...
Just to be clear, I didn't mean "Ill Death" -- I meant this one:
Light of Day
http://groups.google.ca/group/alt.arts.poetry.comments/msg/ff893fe6c6f056c6?hl=en