97 lines
3.5 KiB
HTML
97 lines
3.5 KiB
HTML
<!doctype html>
|
|
<html>
|
|
<head>
|
|
<title>Zk | Ideas for some music</title>
|
|
<link rel="stylesheet" type="text/css" href="/style.css" />
|
|
<meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width" />
|
|
<meta charset="utf-8" />
|
|
</head>
|
|
<body>
|
|
<main>
|
|
<header>
|
|
<h1>Zk | Ideas for some music</h1>
|
|
</header>
|
|
<article class="content">
|
|
<p>Art songs, poems by Dwale.</p>
|
|
<hr />
|
|
<div class="verse">The seasonal storms have poured upon the grassy flat,
|
|
The leafless stalks abound like thirsty mouths.
|
|
Puddles form and soon are swarmed with little fish,
|
|
And all the arid life has fled despair.
|
|
|
|
And here, wrapped in rain, lies the oldest soul,
|
|
The changes wrack his bones with painful cold.
|
|
His skin is like the sky at night, as many scars
|
|
Have marked his hide as there are glinting stars.
|
|
|
|
At once he feels his lungs become bereft of breath,
|
|
His daughter nudges him, to no effect.
|
|
She walks away rememb’ring days they stalked the plains,
|
|
Within her womb there grows a golden bloom.</div>
|
|
<hr />
|
|
<div class="verse">Summer, season of hot insomnia,
|
|
That much never seems to change at all.
|
|
Laying awake in the red desert night,
|
|
I shape forest from shade and wait for fall.
|
|
|
|
Ten years now gone, and who thought I would miss
|
|
Cricket songs, cicadas and katydids?
|
|
Then I’d gladly have grabbed a big hammer,
|
|
Smashed them flat as Pinocchio’s conscience.
|
|
|
|
Testing palisades of clocks and yardsticks,
|
|
No advent waits for the restive dreamer.
|
|
I bandage my tattered, bitten left hand
|
|
And shed the smoke rings on my cloven finger.</div>
|
|
<hr />
|
|
<p><em>Face down in the leaves</em></p>
|
|
<div class="verse">We crawl through moist humus like millipedes,
|
|
Feasting on dirt and dead, crumbling leaves
|
|
While striped skies cycle through violet hues,
|
|
While time’s kisses take the shape of a bruise.
|
|
Endeavors wear the warmer years away,
|
|
Reduced at last to heaven’s dormant clay.
|
|
Alive, I lick brambles until my tongue
|
|
Tears, despairing ever being so young.
|
|
|
|
I think of you. I don’t smile when I do.
|
|
|
|
A moment more and then the day is gone,
|
|
In evening grey, we mourn the vanished dawn,
|
|
And so on, maybe waiting for someone
|
|
To come drag us back to where we belong.
|
|
In dreams we interred, with your pure throat bare,
|
|
I know your breath, your jasmine-scented air.
|
|
Alive, a god to mites and mud-daubers.
|
|
The harvestmen scuttle and bob onwards.</div>
|
|
<hr />
|
|
<p><em>Dirt Garden</em></p>
|
|
<div class="verse">My garden of foxtails and milk-thistle,
|
|
Alive and wild, more so than tended rows
|
|
In growth, has died. I killed them a little,
|
|
The crab-grass clumps, Datura and nettle.
|
|
“Time and time, I commit these small murders,
|
|
To whose benefit?” I ask why and wonder,
|
|
The scent of sap on scuffed and bloody hands.
|
|
If I indwelt some luring scrap of land
|
|
Far from here, secluded, my own to call,
|
|
I would welcome these same weeds, one and all,
|
|
To plant their roots in my warm, earthen roof,
|
|
Just they and I, with no need of reproof,
|
|
And thank the thorns for making a hale fence,
|
|
The compost for being my winter blanket.</div>
|
|
</article>
|
|
<footer>
|
|
<p>Page generated on 2021-01-01</p>
|
|
</footer>
|
|
</main>
|
|
<script type="text/javascript">
|
|
document.querySelectorAll('.tag').forEach(tag => {
|
|
let text = tag.innerText;
|
|
tag.innerText = '';
|
|
tag.innerHTML = `<a href="/tags.html#${text}">${text}</a>`;
|
|
});
|
|
</script>
|
|
</body>
|
|
</html>
|