This week has been a well executed slow week, I survived classes starting back up, and the road to recovery seems to be passing quickly and surely beneath my feet. (All extremities crossed.)
Find following: a poem called ‘Strings of Memory’, a photograph of Brisbane’s CBD, and a poetic fragment about weaving the old and the new and starting things.
Strings of Memory
It’s a soft kind of nostalgia
In complete odds
With the parlance
Of distortion and darkness.
That old time,
Memories soft with age
Colours splashed between deep shadows
Harmonies built of discordant melodies.
Layers of buzzing static and fuzzing fugue,
Time slip-sliding through predawn darkness
The gloom a siren’s song,
Even still, yet to fade.
The sun twists up my insides,
They unspool in the dark.
In the cool-quiet of the morning
Before dawn’s break brings the sun.
The deepening shadows
That rise as the light fades.
The comfortable weight of midnight
The gloom pressing down in the dark.
New strands start a new braid. What fibres transfer well?