by phillipw | Aug 11, 2019 | MY, PO, SC
In 2011 I was reading a biography of John Keats. In the introduction Lord Byron is quoted as saying that Keats “belonged to that second-hand school of poetry” because he got his inspiration from poetry and art, not from life. Be that as it may (and Byron...
by phillipw | Aug 11, 2019 | KE
One Brilliant Spot on a Poet’s Pillow [It used to be that there was a notice in Keats’ House, Hampstead, London, beside the bust of John Keats set on a pedestal that said that it had been tailor-made to make the top of the bust reach exactly to the height...
by phillipw | Aug 11, 2019 | FR, LO, Uncategorized
Sterile I throw my rice on you, small handfuls of White wishes with husks rubbed off. Grains catch there In your hair, a few, the ones that know love And its meaninglessness. That’s what they share With God, that clinging whiteness and a blank...
by phillipw | Aug 11, 2019 | CO, IN
Twenty-four Carat Turing They’re on the way to building techy brains With nano wires of coated silver. Gold Might do, but maybe not, since leaving strains Of greed would be too human. Strands enfold A new creation of electrics which Exists in nanospheres...
by phillipw | Aug 11, 2019 | LO
The Morning Comes The morning comes. Bright noontime passes through. The twilight rinses air. One cycle of These hours in their brightness, dimness, blue Then yellow, scar-dimmed tones erases love, Rubs out the lingering smells there in the sheets. You came. You...
