Trouvez votre prochain book favori
Devenez membre aujourd'hui et lisez gratuitement pendant 30 joursCommencez vos 30 jours gratuitsInformations sur le livre
Gathering - Anthology / Collection / Ensemble - Together As One: Wordcatcher Modern Poetry
De Ross Lane
Actions du livre
Commencer à lire- Éditeur:
- Wordcatcher Publishing
- Sortie:
- Dec 25, 2018
- ISBN:
- 9781789420876
- Format:
- Livre
Description
Anthology - Poems by my Several Selves: 'An anthology of poetry is traditionally a collected work by various writers and, in a sense, that is exactly what this book is. We are all different people at many junctions in our lives. We are moulded and shaped by the people, places and events that leave their fingerprints and footprints on our souls, and as such we change and evolve, losing sometimes our perspective but at the same time gaining another.'
Collection - An Intentional Collection of Poetry: 'There is rarely an end to a collection, itself being the action or process of collecting someone or something into a place to be cherished, observed, reviewed and displayed. This is my first intentional collection of poetry, a selection of work that gathers further memories of people, places, events and dreams.'
Ensemble - All the Parts Working Together: 'Through the writing of this collection I became fixated upon the concept of an ensemble, how it was all the parts of a thing taken together for consideration in relation only to the whole. This expanded my subject matter and areas of life that I wanted to explore. I loved the concept that even the tiniest pieces of memory and life had a significant impact on who we are as a whole, who we have become and who we aspire to be.'
Informations sur le livre
Gathering - Anthology / Collection / Ensemble - Together As One: Wordcatcher Modern Poetry
De Ross Lane
Description
Anthology - Poems by my Several Selves: 'An anthology of poetry is traditionally a collected work by various writers and, in a sense, that is exactly what this book is. We are all different people at many junctions in our lives. We are moulded and shaped by the people, places and events that leave their fingerprints and footprints on our souls, and as such we change and evolve, losing sometimes our perspective but at the same time gaining another.'
Collection - An Intentional Collection of Poetry: 'There is rarely an end to a collection, itself being the action or process of collecting someone or something into a place to be cherished, observed, reviewed and displayed. This is my first intentional collection of poetry, a selection of work that gathers further memories of people, places, events and dreams.'
Ensemble - All the Parts Working Together: 'Through the writing of this collection I became fixated upon the concept of an ensemble, how it was all the parts of a thing taken together for consideration in relation only to the whole. This expanded my subject matter and areas of life that I wanted to explore. I loved the concept that even the tiniest pieces of memory and life had a significant impact on who we are as a whole, who we have become and who we aspire to be.'
- Éditeur:
- Wordcatcher Publishing
- Sortie:
- Dec 25, 2018
- ISBN:
- 9781789420876
- Format:
- Livre
À propos de l'auteur
En rapport avec Gathering - Anthology / Collection / Ensemble - Together As One
Aperçu du livre
Gathering - Anthology / Collection / Ensemble - Together As One - Ross Lane
One
1
Gathering
The caucus lay at the old tree stump,
Prodigal fronds on harvest’s trek,
Equinox carmine blades adorned and splashed
Ash grey, bronze and chestnut chrome.
The mass had formed in glimmer mound,
A teeming dank and dewy shining drift,
Fall’s meadow muffin the tree stub’s gag
The tail end turret crowning above telluric orts.
Each stipule had gathered to form a rustic moat,
Around long dead stub with coffee lid,
A dithered tie around scaly mocha throat,
Autumn’s decomposing hand in full wilt.
Each fallen bract shrinks in weathered crumble,
A mottled cape of oxblood red deforming,
Bleeding into each other’s decaying frames,
Forming shades new, raw umber and lucid,
On the leaves of what we leave.
2
A Winter’s Tale
Evening time adorned in fleck,
Its milky frosted planate pearls
Dusting dewy teary grounds.
Where home plates smoke
Like foggy dens
Each window lustre dressed
Like earth-moored stars,
The lamps of winter sheen
Casting spells on glimmered roads.
Some so bright, like an evening dawn
They flash and glare
Like wind swept candles
In the early black night.
And in the trees
The hunting owls skim eyes
Across the now blanched street,
Where heaven’s floor has rested
Its ghastly waxen trim.
Through frosting glass
Now smudged by breath
The pallid snowy scene
Shifts and drifts,
The duskiness draws out
Twilight’s heart,
And the now home-bound dickens
Wish away the dim dark hours,
Aching for morning’s first blush
To break out
And sculpt the absolved land.
3
Cephalonia
Born of Poseidon’s heart
And nested in Ionian wash,
Your chalky hills
Dashed with vibrant jade
Cut through the cobalt nest,
The still teal gentle a
Slowly lapping
Seating for your forest dunes.
The hilltop homes,
Pastel faced and bleached,
Line your watching sides,
Skirting ranges wide
And rolling green,
The knitted fields of vines
And the rubble scars
Of the shaken arc.
Your sunken coves
Cropped from dusty mounds,
Hold peach and cream abodes
Wrapped and flicked
By the blue-green splash,
Its single sound
That fills the so still towns,
The white based sandy bays
And the harbour’s ebbing pulse.
4
The Poppy Fields
Their petalled velvet lips hold tight to scarlet fire,
A blood flower, bittersweet blooming on
Lime slabs of squat barley meadow.
Each one a perfect cup of bloodshot lamps,
Landlocked coral eyes, flushed and flaming,
The purest russet dressing of old sod.
Each ruddy ornamentation a fanning bowl and rim,
A claret tipple on emerald stem and foot,
A rusting cloud sleeping on fir loam.
Scattered and sown, left behind the
Weeping ruby footprints on pasture’s flat,
A glowing crimson mantle of dahlia lament,
For the sanguine waters of my father’s land,
Once spilt and dashed
To adorn foreign fields with bedizen blush.
Through reminiscence fields
We walk and gently tread upon,
The resting burning tear drops of lost hours.
For Danny Lane
5
At Night
Hours elapse beneath sunken sky,
The whist clouds press,
Pushy on tablet roof tops,
Hill ambushed at village selvage.
Night’s orb shaded pumpkin
Lustres in the sombre vault,
It’s falling dartle bars tasting pockets
Of the still and peaceful land.
We stand at the shore in waiting, bare foot
On the rustling clicking pebble belt,
Gazing into obsidian sky mirrors,
A raven soup with softest swell.
Resting on the black sea brim
We still and stall, drift and sigh,
Through the hours of the dead,
Who whisper their dreams
Into our waiting sleeping ears.
Yet if my dreams have dreams,
They never tell me.
6
Teacher
This one could paint on air,
Spellbinding a seminary’s clutch
As he drew the marrow of glum or blithe
From the poet’s page,
Channelled its drupe in ardour
To lay the inked leaf warm and flat,
Appetizing and wonderous
To watching eyes
And fixate ears.
He brought their phrases
To waiting minds,
Sculpted their sounds to waves
To wash our barren shores,
Until we could taste the zest
Of the author’s mark,
Urging us to dig beneath
Each blot’s stroke and scratch
To unearth is blazing quarry.
His tones our sails and rudder,
Through Shakespeare’s wayward sisters
And Heaney’s peerless laments,
Conjuring landscapes from emphatic birr,
His infectious force ferrying us onward
Through field and dreams
Hauled from writer’s themes,
This language pilot with sartorial sheen
Who released whole worlds to budding brains.
For Mark Jefferies
Antholgy
Poems by My Several Selves
1
Anthology
42 years of spectacle,
Memory’s basket chock
With odds and ends,
Some return, some lost.
Fragmented illustrations
Of a then and now
Sometimes time and place,
Etched on fields of recorded light.
Memories form like an old photo album,
Different shapes and colours,
Tones of times and places
Different lenses, different faces,
The camera evolved beside my perception,
Leaving plastic bound portraits of all the people I used to be.
All my selves clothed in gloss and matt collections.
My old eyes view
The joy in the documenters frame
And the smile of the child
And remember,
For once he was me and once I was him.
2
Castle Tiorum
As a child I ran
To touch its tired walls
And heather dress,
To be within its body
While the stone circle rose about me,
An empty bezel
Resting on a purple shroud.
I looked out where loch met sea,
Joined in shades of blue,
The silky ring that lapped its sides,
Leaving and returning
Caressing ancient walls.
I remember dragging sticks
That chipped its faded skin,
And running on the sandy tail
That we used to reach the shore,
Before the water came to take it,
And bury it deep within itself.
And when the sky changed colour,
We watched the sun cast stones to crimson,
Nature etching Tiorum on the sky and loch
As the waters isolate it once more.
Framed by the black lid of night
And the oceans grip around it sides.
3
Failing Poet
(Why Can’t I Write Like Mike Peters?)
My words never turn like the wheel,
Sometimes desperate and destination barren,
A
Avis
Avis
Ce que les gens pensent de Gathering - Anthology / Collection / Ensemble - Together As One
00 évaluations / 0 avis