Thursday sings like a bent wire fence
jittering on the wind-cradled moor,
like surf running up the strandline,
like a climber hanging on the rock face,
one leg dangling
sings like all those places you cannot be
because you have obligations
not walking boots, responsibilities
rather than salt spray on your lips,
duties not bags of chalk
strung by your waist
You can sing, but soft,
under the breath.
Thursday
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ray miller
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I like the images you've created, though I'm struggling to connect them with Thursdays.Is there such a phrase as wind-cradled? Isn't the wind what you're cradled from?Surf running up the srtandline is good.Nice ending, too.
I'm out of faith and in my cups
I contemplate such bitter stuff.
I contemplate such bitter stuff.
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juliadebeauvoir
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I think this is a sublime little poem--not sure that 'Thursday' should even be the theme. It seems too ordinary for such a lovely, lilting poem. I think you are saying it is the wish for the weekend--the wish to relax, the wish to just 'be'. I have those wishes all the time!Thursday sings like a bent wire fence
jittering on the wind-cradled moor,
like surf running up the strandline,
like a climber hanging on the rock face,
one leg dangling
Not sure what that meant. Please let me know.duties not bags of chalk
strung by your waist
Nice ending.You can sing, but soft,
under the breath.
Cheers,
Kim
"Freedom is what you do with what's been done to you."
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Ros
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Ray, thanks - wind-cradled as in cradled by the wind. Rocked, I suppose. I made it up.
Kim, thanks - bags of chalk that climbers have to put on their fingers to get a better grip. I was imagining bags of duties strung round someone's waist instead.
Not got anything to do with Thursday, really, except the feeling of still being trapped as it hasn't quite got to the weekend yet.
Ros
Kim, thanks - bags of chalk that climbers have to put on their fingers to get a better grip. I was imagining bags of duties strung round someone's waist instead.
Not got anything to do with Thursday, really, except the feeling of still being trapped as it hasn't quite got to the weekend yet.
Ros
Rosencrantz: What are you playing at? Guildenstern: Words. Words. They're all we have to go on.
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Antiphon - www.antiphon.org.uk
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Antiphon - www.antiphon.org.uk
great picture of thursday ros - very lyrical:
Thursday sings like a bent wire fence
jittering on the wind-cradled moor,
like surf running up the strandline,
like a climber hanging on the rock face,
one leg dangling
enjoyed!
Thursday sings like a bent wire fence
jittering on the wind-cradled moor,
like surf running up the strandline,
like a climber hanging on the rock face,
one leg dangling
enjoyed!
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Ros
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Thanks, rushme!
Rosencrantz: What are you playing at? Guildenstern: Words. Words. They're all we have to go on.
___________________________
Antiphon - www.antiphon.org.uk
___________________________
Antiphon - www.antiphon.org.uk