Blog Hiatus

Just a note for people clicking through from Twitter! I didn't realise there were so many of you. My apologies for having just old archives here and no new posts. I think I subsituted Twitter for my blog. I wish there was a way to tweet and have it just posted up here. Someone make a simple app, please. I am a real person and I blogged for two years. I did really love blogging, but it took too long for me. Best wishes - you can follow me on Twitter if you like @msiagirl.

Facebook game...on pg 57 instead (poem by Anne Carson)

XIII. IT IS A MONOPRINT OF DEGAS SHOWING A WOMAN'S HEAD FROM THE BACK CALLED THE JET EARRING

Inside information.
He sought her. He sought her everywhere. Through the nakednesses
of his imagination. In sorrow. In foxholes. As deer flicker way off in a wood in late
winter.

He knew he would destroy the deer.

He sought her in her virginity everywhere in it (fray'd and fled) from top to bottom
of the little looms of the whitish green and the shivering.
He sought her in the ribbon of her missal.
In the faded black smell of its sateen.
In punctuality.

He sought her in the word mistress but she wasn't there, he should
have sheltered in that doorway from the beginning but now
it was night.

He made night seek her too.

Possible night, impossible night, pegs, strings, stringing her to her own
impersonation of
him.

His hand to brush a mark from his face it was her face.

Hesitate,
oh hesitate.

from The Beauty of the Husband

I've lost my mittens

Dessert table, Whippornock Manor, Thanksgiving 2008

Poor little kitten,
She's lost her mittens,
And has a good idea where to find them:
In gracious Virginia,
She's left them somewhere...
She's trying not to cry.

Poor little kitten,
She's lost her red mittens,
And shouldn't be sad that she lost them:
In gracious Virginia,
Remembering being there,
'Cos she had 5 kinds of pie.

Random posting to say sorry I've been away and more postings of a Virginia Homegirl to come later...

Wot I Et: Minute Steak on a Friday Night

You know how Fridays are the ends of long weeks, and your energy is like the last little bit left on the soap-on-a-roap?? An easy dinner is what needs to lay the week to bed.

Maybe one day I'll learn how to take pictures in the dark...

New Poem - Thursday is writing day

Work (first draft)
National Poetry Day, Bath UK 2008

When the work of going to the office
Fell away from me
The smooth clack of to do lists ticking
The ordered stationery
The linear threads of projects following through each other
My hands were empty of myself
And full of uncertainty.

Full of tiny lives and the mad blue hours
Awake when the restless horde on trains seemed still
Looking out onto moonlit gardens
At our unkempt hedges
My own raggedy attempts
To claw back the ravages to my will
Say this is work.

Working love invisible
Each fold each smooth each bend
Soggy runnels of water
Clothes plates children floors eyes
Overflowing
I am more and more invisible
Each day full, each day filled
Needs more work, needs more love.

Needs the still center, like I need it
Walking the knife blade, burns
Meridians blossoming beneath my hands
Light crackling, intent on showing paths
Full, I am the empty vase
Trusting to the adept work of my palms.

by ppo

copyright remains with the author October 2008
Photo by Kak Teh

Freesias and First Love

The bittersweet green smell of freesias reminds me of when we were young and starry eyed, and although we had no money and hardly a stick of furniture between us, I'd still sometimes get a bunch of freesias, or lilies or red tulips.