A thought provoking article in today’s guardian (10 August 2015). The author argues that in a world subject to multiple online distractions the way in which we read books is changing. Readers now flick between messages from friends back to their ebook rather than, as in times past devoting their whole attention to a book. In effect our attention span is less than was the case prior to the proliferation of technology, particularly mobile devices. The author also contends that ebooks are changing the way in which authors write. For the article please visit, http://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2015/aug/10/ebooks-are-changing-the-way-we-read-and-the-way-novelists-write?CMP=share_btn_link
Monthly Archives: August 2015
Unhinged
(https://www.etsy.com/listing/78840032/surreal-portrait-mirror-three-women-5×5)
My neck’s grown tired of always
holding up all the darkness in my head
but I am accustomed to backstroking
against this current; the absentminded
muscles I’ve developed tell me so.
Once I was a baby,
once I didn’t know the ache of unhappiness
but only the forgettable way my small mouth
formed words no one understood.
When I turned into a woman
my heart went all soot and damp earth.
People made it so. The ones I chose to love in fact.
Each unhinged my ribcage and stuffed it with warm deceit.
I’m a modern day Medusa
stuck staring at unwell-adjusted me,
busy chiseling the corners of my mouth
into the slightest of smiles.
K Morris reading his poem ‘Plinths’
Me reading my poem ‘Plinths’
K Morris reading his poem ‘The Gentleman Suitor to his Beloved’
Me reading my poem ‘The Gentleman Suitor to his Beloved’
K Morris reading a selection of his poetry
Me reading a selection of my poetry.
Got The T-Shirt
I have sought comfort in the masses and lost myself in crowds. Like an excited child at the fair I have sought ever greater speed, for speed kills thought. I have looked for excitement and found fleeting pleasures which turn to ashes come the morrow. I have played the cynic while caring deeply, laughed to hide the fact I care. I have been there, done that and got the t-shirt.
Dog
Your contented sighs.
Those soft brown eyes.
Your cold wet nose.
Love beyond speech, my dog knows.
Antisemitism
As obscene as the breaking of glass,
Or the whisper of gas from the past.
“The jews are mean” you said.
Dead bodies in a camp.
The lamp shines on the food divine.
You drink more wine.
A train somewhere in the distance passes,
Somewhere glass smashes.
The Wolf
A powerful poem. Kevin
I Am The Girl Who Wasn’t There
I am the girl who wasn’t there.
I did not sit upon that chair,
playing provocatively with my hair.
I did not drink that expensive wine,
While gazing on your paintings fine.
I did not recline under the quilt so red,
Or moan with exstasy in your bed.
If by chance, an earing she should find,
Worry not, it is not mine.