by phillipw | Jan 27, 2020 | RI, VE
Four Hundred & Twenty Some Odd Days When genius lived in London, English brains Were unaware. When genius loved among Them, drinking gin is what they did. The chains He broke in poetry and sex with tongue And knife and fists, the bindings he destroyed,...
by phillipw | Jan 26, 2020 | FU
Pink as Trauma The gardener comes and chops off fuschia flowers We waited months to worship. They were pink, Pale pink and paler white. In shredded showers Their petals fell. He decided to slink Off, leaving us to find the trauma once He’d left. Before...
by phillipw | Jan 26, 2020 | RI
Sacerdotal Insects Young Rimbaud kept live lice in special seats Up on his head for one specific need. He didn’t leave’em in his guestroom sheets To cause insult. He needed them to breed There so that, when in passing through the rues De Paris he...
by phillipw | Jan 26, 2020 | RI, VE
A Found Sonnet: Blue and Black Gemstones “I cannot accept this death. It’s been some Years now since we’ve seen each other. Rimbaud, Though, Arthur’s art and face, still shine out from The back of my dark brain. Rimbaud is a low, Bright sun which burns inside me,...
by phillipw | Jan 26, 2020 | RI, WI
[Arthur Rimbaud and Oscar Wilde were born four days apart from each other. They both died and are buried in France. Wilde arrived as a student at Oxford at the same time that Rimbaud was abandoning poetry and teaching French in the large house of his employer in...
