by phillipw | Jan 8, 2020 | BR, KE, ST
So Keats was Wrong So Keats was wrong: a star is not so firm Or steadfast as a lover’s sonnet yearns For it to be. In fact, his urgent sperm Was probably more loyal and his tears For Fanny Brawne more strident than two bright, Twin stars. Besides, some stars...
by phillipw | Jan 6, 2020 | BR
How Many Continents? How many continents and oceans has He crossed to come and sit here in this place? With yellow cheekbones elevated as An ancient scholar’s parasol, this face Is calmer than the autumn moon. The march Of eyebrows laid on brusquely, widely by A...
by phillipw | Dec 17, 2019 | BR
Brevity is not the Soul of Death The coach goes whizzing by and briefly swan And blackthorn come in frame upon, beside The springtime silver of the Thames. Soon gone, They all are gone. Yet, if we took the wide View, saw them longer in our time, they still (Not...
by phillipw | Dec 15, 2019 | BR, UG
Revolting The redhead, ugly, and with glasses tries, However. Little earrings mean at least A bit of vanity. To exercise Some hope, though, isn’t wrong. Meager brows creased Above her specs have not been penciled in; No cheating try to titillate,...
by phillipw | Dec 13, 2019 | BE, BR
British Library Brown and Black Reader The normal word is shadows. That’s too strong A term for soft gradations on his face Of light and lesser light. They fall along This ridge, that slant of skin, and make the trace Of beauty blend into grace where lonely...
by phillipw | Dec 13, 2019 | BE, BR
Far from Grim He has a wayward symmetry, not right Like Christ’s, this hair a harmful Rupert Brooke’s. The marble-like complexion gathers light, Transluscent, pure, too beautiful for books. The faintness and the flawlessness of skin Stretched...
