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No one talks about it any-more-
the infused glasswork, the musky incense,
the rose tinted silence,
the robes of red and gold
the dangerous humming of religion
In moonlight after the dance,
the secret language of soul has always been silence.
No one talks about it any-more-
the infused glasswork, the musky incense,
the rose tinted silence,
the robes of red and gold
the dangerous humming of religion
in the background like a hornets nest
that wants to eat it up
because that is what it feeds on.
In moonlight after the dance,
the secret language of soul has always been silence.
Soul (After Zagajewski )
Thanks John, Mac
For the response, as John said, in another part of this forum, this Polish poet has a gift for shock, nicely put. He is a bit erudite, sometimes, but even though he is translated, his poetry is reachable.
Churches of France, is one of my favourites.
Not sure what you mean by muddy syntax John
Tony
For the response, as John said, in another part of this forum, this Polish poet has a gift for shock, nicely put. He is a bit erudite, sometimes, but even though he is translated, his poetry is reachable.
Churches of France, is one of my favourites.
Not sure what you mean by muddy syntax John
Tony
Counting the beats,
Counting the slow heart beats,
The bleeding to death of time in slow heart beats,
Wakeful they lie.
Robert Graves
Counting the slow heart beats,
The bleeding to death of time in slow heart beats,
Wakeful they lie.
Robert Graves
