“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Showing posts with label hell in a hand basket. Show all posts
Showing posts with label hell in a hand basket. Show all posts
Sunday, April 5, 2020
Hades hand-basket
One basket for All
Eggs, incubating too much
heat with Entropy
And it could happen,
And it did
Worse than we
Suspected it
Could
Do-
No more
Harm or foulness
than the
Fear hath
Undone.
Painting by Alice Pike Barney (1857-1931), 'Girl with basket' c. 1888 in Public domain.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Gravitas
For every poem I put here, there are four more never shared, around six never written and twenty-seven partially thought out. For every word...

-
1. Of my Soul a street is: Preternatural Pic- abian tricktrickclickflidk-er garner of starfish Picasso...
-
Someone said, the full moon looks larger in the city because of skyscrapers- which said nothing about people feeling smaller, more co...
-
Water Today, warm raindrops glass blurs, the blurry glassy, sharp sparkles sugar. Behind Evening, it was good. Leaves all turned into shadow...