“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:
Comments (Atom)
Drizzle
The muse has been muted while we are both listening for some reason- we have both observed; Profound is not discovery, Epiphany is no certa...
-
Natures touch is both gentle and fierce. Homo sapiens trample on her back. The thick skin impossible to pierce. So...
-
A year ago this May, in fact, upon this same very grey day- something came over me I found could say, in no other way but to portray, ...
-
Sun lifting the veil of purple sky- might bronze forge strength pungent as the turned dirt? Thirsting through exposition, hi...
